Sylar's Scapegoat
by Okibe Yemoun
Summary: Following the events of "Bittersweet Revenge", Claire has reluctantly agreed to comply with Sylar's demands in exchange for a relatively normal life and the safety of her family. But she has no intention of letting him get away with it.
1. Voyeurism

**Title:** Sylar's Scapegoat  
**Author:** Okibe Yemoun  
**Length:** WIP  
**Warnings:** Read warnings on individual parts for details, but main ones are non-con, bondage and humiliation.

**Spoilers:** This was started in October 2009, but has been adapted to fit in with most of S4 up to the middle of Let It Bleed (so Sylar got Lydia's power but didn't get the tattoo of Claire). It takes place at the end of Claire's Freshman year, so several months after S4.

**Notes:** This is a sequel to "Bittersweet Revenge". Written for the **heroes_bingo** on LiveJournal; the titles of the chapters are taken from the prompts on the bingo squares. Many thanks to **redhillbones**, **dragynflies** and **filmchickjen** for all their comments and suggestions.

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**1 - Voyeurism**

_Bonus kinks: masturbation, mind control_

Claire lay on her dorm bed and stared up at the ceiling. She had showered and changed back into her own clothes, including underwear. The jeans were hot and restrictive in the warm air, but it felt good to feel normal again after two days with Sylar's bizarre clothing fetish. He had probably ruined little summer dresses for her forever.

Everything was so familiar that it was hard to believe she had ever been gone. Her things were exactly where she had left them; in fact, aside from the new dresses lying in a bag in her closet and the expensive shoes, there was little physical sign that Sylar had ever abducted her. He had given back her phone and her schoolbooks and even allowed her to drive back to Arlington on her own once they retrieved her car, miraculously intact exactly where they had left it on Friday.

It was hard to believe that only that morning, Claire had been kneeling on the floor in his father's kitchen, Sylar's hard cock in her mouth. Claire's hand went to her upper chest, half expecting to still feel his sticky seed streaking her skin. She had only glimpsed herself in the mirror afterwards, just before she showered, but it had been enough to see the white smears on her face and chest. Disgusted, she had scrubbed herself thoroughly and concentrated on being nice to Sylar so he would let her go. Amazingly, he did.

Now that she was rested and safe, Claire thought back on the last forty-eight hours and felt a twinge of arousal at the way Sylar had used her. As awful as most of the ordeal had been, Claire had to admit it was the most thrilling thing that had happened to her in months. Maybe she had gotten too used to being pursued by Sylar and government agents; in retrospect, her normal life at college seemed rather bland.

A rush of arousal dampened her cotton panties as she remembered their very last encounter, when Sylar had gone down on her in the Dodge Aries before letting her go back to her car. It had been Sylar's turn to kneel on the floor, jammed between the seat and the dashboard. Sitting on the bench seat, her bare feet on the dashboard, Claire had been so excited after the long drive punctuated by telekinetic fondling that she had even grabbed Sylar's long greasy hair to keep his tongue in the right place, momentarily giving up any pretence that she didn't want this.

"Ugh," said Claire out loud, disgusted at the thought that she had actually enjoyed being abducted and raped. Was it even rape if she remembered some of it fondly? "Get a grip, Claire. It was _Sylar_, for Christ's sake. The guy who murdered Nathan. And Molly Walker."

The thought of Sylar murdering an innocent twelve-year-old girl was enough to dampen her arousal. Her thoughts were further interrupted by Gretchen's return from her parents'. For a moment, Gretchen smiled and looked as if she was going to hug Claire, but then her face fell and she went to put her duffle bag on her side of the room. Claire sat up and they faced each other, each sitting on their own bed.

"Hey," said Gretchen, flicking her long hair back with an awkward half-smile. "So… How did the weekend with Creepy Guy go?"

Claire shook her head. "You have no idea how weird it was."

"So, you… sleeping with this guy?" asked Gretchen, her large dark eyes narrowing jealously.

"Um, kind of," said Claire.

There was no point telling Gretchen that she wasn't since Sylar had threatened to do this again. That was the agreement; he let her go, but only if she let him take her again. Even if Claire lied about it, Gretchen might eventually see them in a compromising situation. The way Gretchen's face fell almost broke Claire's heart.

"Well, I'm glad I was a useful experiment."

"It's not like that," said Claire, desperately wishing that she could explain the situation fully. But she had to take Sylar's threat seriously, and he had ordered her to tell no one what had really happened. "Gretch… It wasn't my idea. Sy- Simon and I… we've known each other for years and… I guess I always knew it would come to this, but I didn't want to cheat on you like that. It's just that he... um, he can be very persuasive."

"Did he force himself on you?" asked Gretchen with alarm, her censorious expression changing to one of concern.

"No, no, he didn't," said Claire, horrified at how easy it was to lie to her well-meaning girlfriend. If Gretchen thought Claire had been raped, chances were good that she would tell Noah Bennet and Claire really wanted to deal with this problem on her own. Sylar was angry enough with her father as it was. "It wasn't like that."

Claire remembered saying something similar to her mother the first time Sylar had violently assaulted her. Still, she could sort of justify this lie by the fact that she had, on the whole, enjoyed the sex with Sylar. If he hadn't been so intent on the weird control games -- hobbling her with cable ties and making her kneel naked on the floor -- she would have almost been fine with the idea of continuing to have sex with him. Not that the weirdness itself wasn't interesting on some level. And the fact of the matter was that, for some strange reason, Claire was attracted to Sylar.

Besides, this wasn't the first time Claire had let a man have sex with her since she'd started her relationship with Gretchen. The thought made her wonder if Gretchen was right, and their relationship was just college experimentation after all -- on Claire's part at least.

Her soulful dark eyes full of sorrow, Gretchen turned away and started unpacking her bag in silence. Claire didn't know what to say to make things better. If she told Gretchen the truth, she would put Gretchen's life at risk. If she continued to pretend that she had had sex with Sylar out of her own free will, Gretchen was going to think Claire had deliberately cheated on her. And since that was the truth -- with Ryan at least -- that was how Claire would have to play it.

"I'm so sorry," she said finally. "It's complicated."

Perhaps sensing the anguish in Claire's response, Gretchen gave her a wan smile, but continued unpacking. Claire didn't pursue the conversation further; she hoped that the little smile meant that her first relatively normal, happy relationship ever wasn't going to be entirely destroyed by Sylar's libido. Given a few days, they might be able to patch up their friendship.

In an effort to get things back to normal, Claire went over to her desk and began work on her biology assignment. Even if Gretchen didn't forgive her, there were only another couple of weeks of school before the summer break. After that, Claire would be staying with her mom for a while and then working the summer job her dad had found her, and she would no longer have to lie to Gretchen.

Claire sighed as she realized she would be lying directly to her parents then; she hoped Sylar would have the sense to be discreet until she could convince him to give up on the scheme altogether. Maybe she could introduce him to a nice young man; he'd had sex with Luke after all. The thought cheered her up far more than it should have done. In the meantime, she would just put up with Sylar's crap until she found a way out of the situation.

* * * * * * * * * *

The stench was overpowering. Even holding his sleeve over his mouth and nose, Sylar could smell his father's rotting corpse long before he entered the bedroom. Even then, the odor of putrefaction was not enough to prepare him for the sight of the decaying body on the floor beside the bed. Batting away the flies that buzzed around the overheated room, Sylar felt bile rise to his throat and had to run outside where he was violently sick.

He sat on the porch for a while afterwards, affected by what he had seen and ashamed of his reaction. Sylar was no stranger to death. He had murdered over fifty people, most in cold blood, some for their powers, some almost by accident. He had sliced open skulls and observed the dying electrical activity in countless brains, using his bare hands to uncover the areas where abilities lurked, not caring when his often hasty prodding damaged the brain and extinguished the owner's life.

But this was different. Sylar usually left the bodies before they were cold, long before their muscles relaxed and expunged fluids and gasses, and way before putrefaction could begin. In fact, out of all the people he had murdered, he had only accompanied a couple beyond the first hour. Elle's was the only one he had stayed with until rigor mortis was complete. Perhaps even back then, Sylar had felt the need to punish himself for what he had done by watching the beautiful warm body he had held just hours earlier turn into a ghostly rigid corpse.

"Fuck this," exclaimed Sylar, using a violent blast of electricity to ignite a pile of timber in front of the house.

The blue lightening reminded him of Elle standing beside him in chains, smiling with delight as he acquired and demonstrated her power. Sylar remembered his bare skin still tingling from the electrocution she had put him through, and the elation he had felt when he realized that he had obtained her power simply because he knew how she felt -- and because he wanted her. The memory did nothing to ease his irritation.

Steeling himself once more, Sylar returned to the bedroom and blasted off the side wall of the trailer, rolling the corpse onto the ground outside. Keeping a good distance between himself and his father's remains, Sylar dug a deep grave and threw the body into it with little regard to how it fell. He waved the dry earth back into the hole and stared at the mound of brown soil for a moment.

As a grown man, Gabriel had stopped really believing in an afterlife, whatever his adoptive mother told him about heaven and angels. As far as Sylar was concerned, that putrefied cadaver was all that was left of Samson Gray; the man who had sold him, who had murdered his mother, had died alone and his corpse had been left to rot. Sylar smiled, satisfied that his father had met the end he deserved. But as he continued to look at the grave, he felt moisture collect in his eyes. He wiped away the tears impatiently and set about the real purpose of this visit.

Having ascertained using Molly Walker's power that his father was dead, Sylar had decided that it was time to take possession of his father's few assets; the house in Newark, a private pension he had apparently taken out some decades earlier, a bank account and a credit card. Unable to use his original identity, Sylar had drifted through the past couple of years, surviving on theft and manipulation, but never able to lead a normal life for any length of time. It hadn't mattered when the lure of each new quarry kept him moving from place to place, living hand-to-mouth, entirely focused on his purpose. But now… well, now, things were different. The hunger was gone, leaving behind the emptiness of a lonely life newly bereft of purpose.

Sylar ran his hands through his long hair, annoyed at the weakness that threatened to overwhelm him. Nathan, Gabriel, Sylar… Parkman had fractured his soul until he sometimes forgot who he was. It was worse than the breakdown he had suffered because of the shape shifting.

He still wanted to be Sylar, powerful, confident, unstoppable, but he couldn't kill. He had tried to murder Angela Petrelli, but had felt compelled to stop in mid-slice. After his altercation with Peter -- and whatever that Dudley Dogood had done to him with the Haitian's power -- he couldn't even slice a forehead. It had now been over a year since his last ability kill, that pathetic man who could disintegrate objects, and if he was perfectly honest with himself, Sylar didn't even _want_ to kill anymore, even when a power he had long coveted stared him in the eye. He had seen Molly Walker trembling before him and had felt compelled to give her a reassuring smile. The result was the same; a few minutes of apologizing and he had her power, but he had come away feeling weak and impotent.

Deciding that staying out here would bring nothing good, Sylar took a couple of boxes of his father's belongings and started the long drive towards his most remote safe house. He stopped off at an unassuming motel -- not the one he had visited with Luke a year earlier -- and ate at a nearby diner. Sitting alone at a table, Sylar felt unexpected tears sting his eyes; he wiped them away angrily. Pathetic, needy Gabriel, no doubt; he doubted Nathan Petrelli would have shed any tears for Arthur.

"You okay, hun?" asked the large waitress, noticing him pawing at his eyes.

"Yeah... No," said Sylar. "I just buried my father." The waitress made sympathetic noises as she cleared the table, so he continued. "I never really knew him. He sold me when I was four."

Ignoring the waitress's puzzled look, Sylar frowned. His own memories were now reinforced by the visions he had picked up from his red cart and toys, leaving him with a single certain fact that confused the hell out of him.

"It makes no sense… he loved me," said Sylar. "I saw it. He smiled at me and took me bird-watching with him because he enjoyed my company. But he beat my mother. He beat me and then he sold me. Why would he do that?"

"Some people are seriously messed up," said the waitress; he could tell from her tone that she suspected he was one of them.

Sylar decided that he didn't need the hassle of arousing her suspicions. "Can I have another of those ice creams? That one was really good… Kayla," he said, reading her nametag.

The waitress gave him a warm smile and went off to get his new order. Sitting at the table, Sylar amused himself by drawing mind pictures of Claire on the back of a napkin. Imprinting was one of his least useful abilities; the power to transfer an image from his mind onto a flat surface didn't come in as useful as he'd originally imagined. Actually, he hadn't thought about it much at the time; it was just another one of those abilities tucked away for future use.

"She looks pretty. Is that your girlfriend?" asked the waitress when she returned.

"No. Well, kind of." Sylar thought about his dirty weekend with Claire and grinned. His smile faded as an unwanted image of Claire hugging Nathan clouded his mind. "I don't get along so well with her family… Though ironically, her dad kind of inspired me to hook up with her. He was a real lothario; a girl in every town -- secretaries, interns, assistants. He started at 15 and never looked back. I'm kind of… well, I was more of a late bloomer." A _really_ late bloomer. "My adoptive mom disapproved of sex so much it's no wonder she never had kids. But I guess now I know what this guy got up to, I feel like catching up."

"Well, a handsome guy like you shouldn't have any trouble catching up," said the waitress flirtatiously.

Sylar chuckled, considerably cheered up. Yes, he had some catching up to do, and the fact that he could do it with Claire just made it all the better. His inexplicable inability to kill made it difficult to murder her family as originally planned, but with Nathan's memories as inspiration, he now thought that corrupting Claire would be far better revenge. He could also use her to work out some of the frustrations of his life; an indestructible scapegoat to a psychopath on the mend.

Nearly a week on, Sylar half wished he had kept hold of Claire -- it would certainly have made sex easier to come by -- but he didn't want her to come with him to investigate his father's death, and he certainly didn't want her around if he was going to be obliged to buy her tampons. Besides, in order for their relationship to continue, Claire needed to think that he was still über-powerful Sylar the sadistic killer; he feared that keeping her with him would reveal way too much of the woolen-clad watchmaker still struggling to emerge beneath the surface.

On the other hand, he reckoned she should be past her inconvenient feminine problem by the weekend, when it would be time to pay her a little visit.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Sylar went looking for her the following Saturday evening, Claire was at an end of year mixer, wearing a red cocktail dress that emphasized her broad hips and shoulders. Her hair was up in a style that suited her pretty round face; as usual, she was wearing way too much makeup, but it made her blend in with her sorority sisters, equally slutty and vacuous in their fancy dresses. Sylar emulated a girl who was throwing up outside and would probably be leaving soon; using Parkman's power, he easily avoided conversations with the girl's friends and was able to concentrate on following Claire.

Her roommate wasn't there and although Claire had desultory conversations with some of the girls, and spent some time dancing, she seemed at a loss what to do with herself. A couple of boys tried to chat her up, but she brushed them off easily. There were a lot of couples at the party; Sylar saw Claire watching wistfully as one of her friend sneaked out into the yard with her boyfriend. After a moment's pause, Claire also walked out into the warm night air. Intrigued, Sylar shifted back into himself and followed.

Claire was standing on the back porch, looking up at the stars. Sylar used a power that worked well in these situations, standing in plain view, but obfuscating his image so that although Claire could see him if she looked in the right direction, she wouldn't actually notice him. She didn't look around, though; once she had finished pretending to look up at the stars, she lowered her head and looked at the couple she had followed. Sylar's heart skipped a beat.

The thought he read when he tilted his head at her was disappointing. I wish Gretchen was here to kiss me like that. Gretchen. She was watching a man and a woman kissing passionately and she didn't even have a thought for Sylar? The realization annoyed Sylar and awakened his evil impulses. If Claire liked to watch, he was going to have some fun with her.

Sylar looked over at the couple. They were kissing a few yards away, leaning against a tree; the man's hands were groping the woman's ass while she ruffled his hair. Even at this distance, Sylar could see their tongues entwined. The sight sent a shot of arousal down to his privates. Looking at Claire, he could tell that she was affected too; her lips were parted and her face seemed slightly flushed. A plan began to form in his mind.

Feeling particularly frisky, the couple moved further out into the trees and bushes lining the edge of the yard. Claire hesitated, but a 'Follow them and watch' mental order by Sylar made her walk out into the yard so that the couple was still in sight. Grinning wickedly, Sylar followed and sent an order to the couple; almost immediately, the girl broke the kiss and sank to her knees, undoing her boyfriend's flies. Claire gasped audibly and moved closer, hiding behind a tree, her eyes glued to the couple.

Sylar was pleased to find that the girl they were watching was experienced. She pulled her boyfriend's light brown erection out with a smile, apparently looking forward to sucking it; she either saw it as an act of love or she genuinely enjoyed sucking cock. Sylar supposed it was possible for a woman to like this; Luke had enjoyed doing it to him and maybe Claire would come to like it too. He would just have to make sure she did it often enough to overcome her current dislike. The thought of forcing Claire to blow him regularly excited Sylar almost as much as watching the couple in the yard. Still concealed by the obfuscation power, he stroked the front of his pants lightly.

The girl was sucking in earnest now, the man's long hard dick vanishing halfway into her mouth on each movement of her head. The guy's hand was resting on his girlfriend's hair and he was watching her blow him with a tender smile. Claire was still watching in fascination; she was breathing heavily now.

The man groaned a little as the girl changed the angle of her head and more of his cock disappeared into her mouth. Holy fuck. Sylar had no idea any woman's mouth was that deep. Claire looked similarly shocked, but less aroused; apparently, watching one of her friends deep-throating her man wasn't that big a turn on after all. Sylar hoped the sight might give her ideas for the next time he had her on her knees, but for now, he was more interested in seeing her turned on by her voyeurism.

Before the guy could come down his girlfriend's throat, Sylar sent another order to the couple. The girl pulled off and got on her hands and knees on the ground. She pulled up her party dress, revealing lacy pink panties and the garters suspending her stockings. Sylar was amazed at how lucky he was to have chosen such a highly-sexed couple for his demonstration. The man dropped to his knees behind the girl and pulled her panties down. Claire's interest was immediately renewed; Sylar even noticed the almost imperceptible way she shifted her hips as she became aroused.

The man's dick disappeared completely in his girlfriend's pussy, reemerging as he pulled back out before plunging in again. The girl moaned and bit her lip as her boyfriend grabbed her hips to hold her in place while he fucked her. Claire was panting. Her hand rose to her breast, fondling herself lightly. Sylar licked his lips in anticipation and had to hold back from ordering her to do what he wanted to see. He did however order her to watch the couple and imagine herself in the girl's position, on her hands and knees with Sylar fucking her. It worked better than he had anticipated; with no further prompting, Claire lifted her red dress and slid a hand between her legs. Sylar almost groaned out loud.

The guy fucking Claire's friend doggy-style was almost forgotten as Sylar watched Claire, fascinated by the movements of her hand. She slid her other hand under her dress; crouching down for a better view, Sylar could see her hands working inside her cotton panties. It was exciting, but unsatisfactory, so he had to plant another suggestion to get her to push the underwear out of the way; some day perhaps he would convince her to do without altogether. She pushed her panties down to the top of her hips, leaving them stretched tight across her flesh like a makeshift bond. Conscious that someone might see her like this, Sylar extended his power of obfuscation to Claire, ensuring that even the couple still rutting on the other side of the tree wouldn't notice her.

Claire used her left hand to spread her lips open while the other hand rubbed her clitoris. Sylar watched her short red fingernails flashing back and forth in her light brown hair as she worked to bring herself to her peak, her eyes still on the couple. He had to resist the urge to stroke himself too; he didn't intend to waste his seed on the inside of his pants when Claire would soon be wet and panting, more than ripe for the taking. Sylar grinned at the sight of her leaning against the tree, the top half of her body decent except for her closed eyes and bitten lips, but the lower half almost obscene, the fancy skirt on her dress pulled up to her waist, her panties tight around her hips and her little fingers working her clit. He almost wished he had brought a camera.

It took Claire several minutes to reach the start of her climax, when her legs began to tremble and her body was coated in sweat under the elegant dress. Grinning wickedly, Sylar walked out from his hiding place, timing his appearance so that Claire climaxed just as she realized he was standing watching her. She stifled her cry of pleasure, but there was no hiding the way she panted and shivered, scrunching up her face as if in pain. Sylar thought he had rarely seen anything more exciting and beautiful.

Clair stared at him, leaning against the tree with her hands still in between her legs, her cheeks burning with shame. Not giving her time to wallow in her humiliation, Sylar crooked a finger to lift her a few inches up the tree so that her hips were level with his. Claire closed her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek, and spread her thighs without a word, her taut panties digging into the flesh on her upper thighs. Almost pushed over the edge by this simple gesture of submission, Sylar unbuckled his belt with alacrity, tore off her panties and thrust into her moist sex, tearing the obstacle at the entrance without difficulty.

"Aw, did you miss me already?" he drawled, unable to refrain from gloating.

"Obviously not," said Claire through gritted teeth. "I was doing fine without you."

Sylar laughed and thrust harder, banging Claire's body against the tree and listening with pleasure as she bit back a moan with every thrust. Sylar knew she was scared that the couple would see them. Like in the photo booth, it gave Sylar great satisfaction to see Claire so afraid while he knew that no one would in fact notice them.

Sylar had never had sex standing up; he tried to hold Claire up telekinetically, but his power struggled against the onslaught of his own hips. Afraid of falling, Claire wrapped her arms around his neck, her strong thighs grabbing his hips. Sylar kissed her mouth hard and gripped her hips mercilessly to keep her up. He could feel her sliding down the tree as he lost control of his powers; chances were good that they were now visible to anyone who cared to look this way.

Sylar knew he should try to regain control, but Claire's tongue was in his mouth, her thighs were like a vise around his hips and her pussy was tight around his shaft. The smell of her shampoo and cosmetics combined with her natural scent, more pronounced following her orgasm, intoxicated his senses. Sylar broke the kiss and nuzzled her earlobe, making her shudder as her little hoop earring brushed against his nose.

Maybe this was better than taking abilities after all. It was certainly more fun for Claire who was now groaning with abandon, milking him with every thrust until he came inside her. Sylar leaned heavily against Claire, keeping her physically pinned to the tree as the aftermath of his own pleasure subsided slowly and he was able to use his abilities again.

"I knew this was a good idea," he said, pulling out and lowering Claire to the ground again. He wiped his mouth in case it was covered in her lipstick.

"You… you used an ability," she said in a low voice, breathless and apparently too stunned to straighten herself immediately. "I didn't even realize. You made me do that."

"Yes. Well, I made you watch your friends." Sylar smirked. "I didn't tell you to enjoy it that much."

Claire leaned against the tree, looking disgusted. Sylar could see blood and semen starting to trickle down the inside of her leg; noticing his smirk, Claire pulled her dress down. The couple they had watched earlier was gone, leaving them alone amongst the trees, but Claire still looked upset by what had happened.

"You're an incredible fuck," said Sylar; it was the first compliment that came to mind.

"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically, though she looked less upset. "That makes me feel so good about myself."

Sylar chuckled. "Okay. You're a beautiful, intelligent woman who also happens to be a good fuck." He stretched his arms; regeneration or not, holding her up against the tree had been a strain. "You're surprisingly heavy. Maybe I'll tie you to the tree first next time." Sylar looked up at the smooth bark, considering how he could achieve that.

"As long as you don't use cable ties," said Claire, looking around for her panties.

Tucking his softened dick into his pants, Sylar raised an eyebrow; did Claire just agree to be tied up next time they met? It set his mind racing. Now that he had access to his father's credit card, he would be able to make some online purchases. Even though Claire wasn't currently his captive, he still liked the idea of her being his sex slave, and it seemed logical that a slave should be tied up. If she didn't like cable ties, he would get her something else.

Claire found her panties, lying torn on the ground where Sylar had dropped them earlier. She didn't seem to know what to do, so Sylar levitated them into his pocket for later disposal.

"I-I guess I need to go back," said Claire as a group of laughing boys came out onto the back porch for a smoke. "Unless you're going to, um…"

She didn't continue, probably not wanting to give Sylar ideas. It occurred to him that she probably expected him to abduct her again. He didn't have anywhere to take her; both his father's house and the safe house were too far away, and he hadn't planned on doing anything but check in on her and have sex. He made a mental note to ensure that he had secured some accommodation nearby next time he came to her.

"No, I'll let you get back to your party," said Sylar, grinning at the idea of her talking to her friends with his come trickling down her legs.

"Uh, okay."

Well, this was awkward. Claire didn't seem to know whether to leave him there or accompany him out, and some part of Sylar thought that he should probably stay and make sure she was all right. On the other hand, that would undermine his hold on her; he had promised to use her as a sex slave in exchange for her family's lives, and being concerned about her wellbeing in a gentlemanly fashion wouldn't do much to reinforce that idea.

In any case, his recent contact with memories of his childhood had confirmed his long-held belief that there was nothing good or kind in the universe; it was all winners and losers, the strong and the weak. Love never lasted, even when it wasn't corrupt and selfish to begin with. Either Claire was strong enough to make her way home without his help, or she was one of the weak and deserved what she got.

Sylar kissed Claire gently on the cheek; he knew it was the kind of thing that freaked his victims out. "Until next time," he said.

He rose up into the air, intending to go straight back to his safe house. As he left, though, he couldn't resist scanning Claire's mind to see what she was thinking as she rearranged her dress and hair and watched him go.

_Why the hell did we drive 4 hours to Newark last weekend if the bastard can fly?_

It reassured him that Claire was one of the strong after all. Having her at his beck and call was going to be great fun.


	2. Bondage

**2 - Bondage**

_Bonus kinks: __non-con, sensation play, car sex_

Despite her weird encounter with Sylar at the mixer, Claire resumed the normal course of her life once again. Her only concession to Sylar's possible return at any moment was to visit a family planning clinic, where she got a lecture about condoms, a contraceptive shot that she was afraid wouldn't work on her, and advice about "intra uterine devices" which sounded a lot more like the kind of thing that would stop Sylar's spawn from settling in her womb. Unfortunately, the clinic wasn't prepared to install one immediately, especially when a quick examination revealed that Claire appeared to be a virgin. So she had to hope that the shot would work.

Exams started; Claire was pondering a depressing G.E. she'd taken that morning when she came back to her room after lunch and found Gretchen at the desk, cramming for her next test. Things between them hadn't improved in the last ten days, ever since Sylar had first abducted Claire. She wished she knew what to say to get her friend back; she missed being able to discuss ordinary topics like classes and exams without a wall of ice between them. But as far as Gretchen was concerned, they had been in a relationship and Claire had cheated. It felt like West's reaction to her Dad all over again.

"Oh, hey, you've received a package," said Gretchen without raising her head. "Doesn't say who it's from."

Picking it up, Claire observed the mailing envelope with curiosity. The address label was printed, with a barcode that suggested it came from a company, but there was no indication which one, just a P.O. Box as the return address. Claire sat on her bed and opened one end. All she could see were red leather straps with silver buckles; puzzled, she pulled one out. She was about to ask Gretchen her opinion when she realized what the short, collar-like object was. She remembered Luke talking about leather handcuffs back in the house in Newark and hastily closed the envelope again.

"Who's it from?" asked Gretchen. Something about the way she was looking at Claire suggested that she had seen the cuff.

Claire blushed a little. "Um, Simon."

"Oh. That kind of present, is it?" said Gretchen narrowing her eyes with amusement. She had definitely noticed the handcuff.

Although their friendship was still strained, Gretchen seemed to be trying to adapt to the idea of Claire's boyfriend "Simon". It just made Claire's situation worse; it was bad enough that she was Sylar's on-demand sex slave, but trying to make out that it was a normal relationship to Gretchen just made Claire feel even more like a freak. The "boyfriend" Gretchen was trying to accept was a freak who sent his "girlfriend" bondage gear.

"Um, I need to go to the library," said Gretchen, "so why don't you have a look at your present in private?"

God, Gretchen was trying too hard. Claire smiled and let her go. She had just put the parcel under the bed, determined to look at it some other time, preferably never, when her phone beeped. Someone had initiated an IM conversation; Claire didn't recognize the user name, but she knew who it was as soon as she saw the message.

**GMG1976**: _did you get the package_

Swallowing the bile that rose to her throat, Claire accepted the conversation and responded "Yes".

**GMG1976:** _good practice putting them on and meet me at the south parking entrance at 430 pm bring the package wear the yellow dress and shoes and nothing else_

Claire's heart sank into her stomach at Sylar's request. She ignored the tingle she felt as she remembered the last time they had met and the casual way he had screwed her against a tree at her friend's house. At least that had fit in with the notion that he would just appear in her life and take what he wanted. The idea of actually preparing for an encounter with Sylar in advance, and going to meet him as if she was a willing participant, made Claire feel rather sick. She muttered a couple of profanities about stupid asshole psychos who didn't understand punctuation.

**TexasClaire:** _I have to study for an exam. Can we meet another time?_

**GMG1976:** _No. You can study after. Don't be late. I'll have to keep you all night if I have to come get you._

**GMG1976:**_ I might have to invite your girlfriend too._

**GMG1976: **_See you at 4.30._

He had evidently worked out punctuation and capitals on whatever device he was using. Sylar closed the conversation without even waiting for Claire to respond. She resisted the urge to hurl her cell phone across the room; it would only result in her having no phone and do nothing to resolve her problem. Instead, she sat on her bed and seethed.

However, even seething wouldn't get her out of this situation. It was lunch time now. She had a test at 2.00 and another one at 3.00, which meant she would only have half an hour to get ready to meet Sylar that afternoon. The meeting place was nowhere near the building her exams were in so she wouldn't have time to go back to her dorm and change. She would have to sit her tests wearing the yellow dress -- with the gross contents of the package in her bag -- and then go to meet Sylar straight afterwards.

Claire was tempted to ignore his messages completely. It was probable that Sylar would simply abduct her by force if she welched on their deal, but at least Claire's own conscience would be clear; she would remain his unwilling victim rather than an active participant. On the other hand, he had threatened her family and friends, she _had_ agreed to have sex with him on demand, and she was sick of being everyone's victim. Going to confront him was slightly more appealing than lurking in her dorm waiting for him to come get her. Also, she had to admit that she was just a little curious as to what he had planned.

In the meantime, he had told her to practice putting the gear on. Claire breathed in deeply; she didn't have much time before her first test, so she locked the door and emptied the envelope onto the bed. It contained two pairs of red leather cuffs and two short chains. Claire stared at them in horror; Sylar had evidently taken her objection to the zipties seriously.

"Oh, this is gross," she exclaimed with a shudder.

She didn't even want to touch the things. The Bennets had been reasonably open about sex and Claire already knew from her mother and school friends that some people -- sick people -- liked to tie each other up and/or inflict pain during sex. She'd seen bondage gear and simulated kinky sex scenes in mainstream movies like Pulp Fiction and Basic Instinct. But it had always been a vaguely titillating but entirely remote concept; Claire had more experience of pain and bondage than most girls her age, but none of it so far had been sexual.

"Trust Sylar to be a pervert as well as a stalker," she muttered.

The thought occurred to her then that Sylar was probably stalking her right now. He could fly; there was nothing to stop him hovering outside her window the way that West had done. And Nathan. In fact, he probably _remembered_ Nathan doing it. Claire glanced out the window but wasn't reassured when she saw nothing. Sylar had appeared out of thin air at the party on Saturday; he was probably invisible.

Claire had just reached that conclusion when her phone beeped. She glanced at the message and rolled her eyes.

_You really should try them on. Otherwise, I bet your girlfriend would like to help._

Great. Just fucking fantastic. The last thing Claire wanted was for Gretchen to be involved in Sylar's perversions; all through their relationship, Claire had been unable to shake the conviction that Gretchen thought she was a freak, and this would be just too much.

Taking a deep sigh, Claire picked up one of the straps, her nose wrinkled in disgust. She fastened it to her left ankle, tightening the buckle so that it fit like a dog's collar; tight enough to stay on but loose enough to allow her to slip a finger between the leather and her bare skin. She repeated the process with a wrist strap next. The buckle was easy to fasten with one hand, like a watch. Deciding upon reflection that she didn't need it all that loose, Claire adjusted it to fit snuggly.

Aside from the silver buckle and the D-ring attached to one side, it looked a bit like one of the wristbands she had occasionally worn as a cheerleader, only made of leather. She noticed that one strap in each pair had a small clip dangling from the D-ring; the cuffs were designed to clip to each other. She felt heat rising to her cheeks as she imagined herself with her wrists and ankles clipped together, unable to walk or do much with her hands.

"Okay, that's enough," she muttered. "I've practiced."

Claire put away the cuffs and went to the bathroom in the corridor outside to change into the yellow dress, deliberately leaving her cell phone behind. She'd already given Sylar a show; he wasn't getting a striptease as well.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was the first time since her abduction that Claire had worn any of the dresses Sylar had given her. This one looked perfectly ordinary in the banal setting of her university. The smocked band at the top hugged her breasts comfortably, the thick cotton hiding her nipples, and the dress reached down to mid thigh, more than long enough to cover her modestly. Claire had owned plenty of short skirts and dresses; she knew how to move in them without revealing anything, so there was no reason to be ashamed of what Sylar was making her wear.

Even so, the dress felt less ordinary when Claire was waiting for Sylar at the entrance of the South parking lot. She had removed her panties in the bathroom after her last exam, folding them neatly into her bag alongside the bondage paraphernalia. A brisk walk across the campus feeling the air circulating freely around her naked private parts had reminded Claire of her hopefully temporary, but very real, situation as Sylar's sex slave.

Now that she was standing on the sidewalk waiting for him, Claire felt like a prostitute. She bet that they didn't bother with panties either. The thought that someone might mistake her for a whore and stop to accost her made Claire shiver; it also made her nether regions heavy with inexplicable arousal. Great. Bad enough that she should be turned on by Sylar of all people, but now she was fantasizing about complete strangers. Claire blamed the lack of panties; she told herself that she was a young woman at the height of her sexual prime and couldn't be blamed for responding to random sexual stimuli.

Any reassurance brought by this thought -- gleaned from some of Gretchen's feminist literature -- was gone by the time an SUV pulled up in front of her. Terrified that her fantasy might be coming true, Claire was cautious to grab the can of mace in her bag as the back door opened by itself and she leaned in to see who was there. She was actually relieved to see Sylar's dark features over the front seat.

"Get in," he said impatiently.

Claire slid into the back of the car and put her seatbelt on; Sylar slammed the door closed before she could reach to do it, and drove off. The car was a large family car with amongst other things a rearview mirror that allowed the driver to see the backseat and vice versa. Claire could only see Sylar's dark eyes and bushy eyebrows in the narrow mirror.

"Put on the restraints," he ordered, scowling at her through the mirror.

Someone was in a bad mood. "Yes, master," said Claire sarcastically.

She gasped as an invisible hold gripped her throat. Bastard. Claire swallowed and didn't try to talk. She glared at Sylar's eyes in the mirror and set about fastening the straps to her wrists and ankles.

"Put the chains on too."

The car had blacked out windows in the rear and Claire fervently hoped that no one could see her as she took the chains out of her bag. She assumed that Sylar wanted her to chain her wrists together and her ankles the same; she imagined herself with her wrists chained to her ankles, knees bent and unable to move normally and dismissed the thought. Claire did her ankles first, but hesitated when she realized that chaining her wrists would trap her fastened three-point seatbelt. Since she wasn't going to die even if she did fly through the windscreen, Claire undid the seatbelt and clipped the chain to her wrist cuffs.

"Glad you worked that one out. Pull your dress up," said Sylar.

Ha. She'd almost forgotten about that particular fetish; Claire complied but didn't part her thighs. She didn't need to -- Sylar pulled them apart for her and adjusted the mirror for a better view.

"Nice." She couldn't see him anymore, but she could hear a smile in his voice. "Hook your arms to that hook above the door."

Claire looked up and saw a standard plastic coat hook above the door beside her. She looped the chain between her wrists over it. She remembered Sylar jumping on her the day he abducted her, and the time he made Luke rape her, and the way he had fondled her and gone down on her in the car on the last day. Sylar evidently had a thing about sex in cars. She was getting quite a good idea of his particular fetishes: exhibitionism (for her), cars, and bondage. Know your enemy was a major rule in Gretchen's crime books and Claire figured that the information might come in useful some day.

After they had driven another five minutes or so, Sylar spoke again.

"We'll be stopping for a short while now. Get into a position for sex."

The order simultaneously made Claire's blood run cold and her sex throb with excitement. She had to assume that she was excited by the idea of having sex -- she did enjoy it for the most part -- and not the brutal way Sylar was ordering her to change position like… well, like a whore again. Or a sex slave. Claire decided to ponder which was best another time.

For now, she spent a few seconds deciding how to arrange her body. She assumed that Sylar meant penetrative sex; he was a guy after all, and probably thought, Bill Clinton-style, that fucking her vagina was the only definition of "sex". She also presumed that he wanted her arms to stay attached to the hook above the door; car sex and bondage fetish, after all. If her hands had been free, she might also have pulled her dress up further to hit his exhibitionism (for her) kink. Might as well cover all bases and lull him into a false sense of security.

Sylar stopped the car and got out, making no comment on the fact that Claire still hadn't moved. They were parked in a lay-by close to a recycling point again. Sylar put some items in the plastic and paper bins, and then walked about, apparently stretching his legs, but no doubt waiting for her to make up her mind. In the end, Claire chose to kneel on her seat, her head resting on her arms, her elbows against the window and her ass pointing at the opposite door. Sylar immediately got in.

"You like this position, don't you?" he said; though she couldn't see him, she could hear the smirk on his lips.

_No, not particularly, thanks for asking,_ thought Claire sarcastically, since she couldn't speak.

Sylar didn't seem to reading her mind. He stroked her bottom slowly with one hand. "It has its perks for me too. You have a very sexy ass." His finger snaked in between her buttocks to stroke her asshole; Claire tensed and then heaved a sigh of relief when the finger moved down to her vagina, even if it did push inside too hard. "There's something quite primeval about having you like this. Your ass up in the air, your cunt spread and hot in all that fur. The clever co-ed on all fours like a bitch in heat."

It was fortunate for Sylar that he was still pumping his finger in and out of her, or Claire might have lost her arousal altogether. Next time he allowed her to speak, she was going to point out that he was crap at sexy talk. Sylar replaced his finger with his erection and Claire let out a soundless grunt, like the whispered exhalations Peter's girlfriend made when she was signing and didn't vocalize.

"If I'd known you were this good, I'd have fucked you years ago," said Sylar breathlessly. "Maybe had some fun with that cheerleading outfit you used to wear."

Claire rolled her eyes. What was it with people and the fucking cheerleader thing? Even Hiro still called her that. Claire grabbed the handle above the door to reduce the pressure on her wrists. She pushed back onto Sylar's erection to stop him from hammering her into the door. It shut him up for a moment as he got buried deep inside her. Claire bit her lip; her insides were filled up and gently stretched, and it felt great. She couldn't help panting a bit as he pulled down the top of her dress to grab her breasts and rocked his hips a few times without pulling out, keeping his hard penis buried deep inside her.

Sylar grunted quietly and Claire thought for a moment that he was finished. This had already lasted longer than usual. But Sylar pulled back and started thrusting in and out again, his penis clearly still erect. The friction made Claire want to moan even though it was rocking her bound arms against the window again. He was right; there was something primeval about being fucked like this. If only he would rub her at the same time… _Touch me, you bastard, god, just touch me and I'll come…_ She half hoped that he was reading her mind -- she would never have said it out loud even if she could talk -- but there was no sign of him hearing her plea. He continued to pump into her, using her breasts as leverage, and apparently obvious to her desires. It felt good, really good, but just not good enough to make Claire come.

Claire's voice came back as Sylar neared his peak. She moaned far more loudly than she wanted to when it suddenly returned, but she was so turned on that she couldn't bring herself to care. The sound seemed to excite Sylar; his thrusts became less regular and his own noises more pronounced. His grip on her breasts tightened to a point that would have been painful for anyone but her. Claire wished he would move one of those hands further down; it would probably only take a couple of strokes to make her come, but god, it would make all of this worth it.

"Oh, Claire, you… you minx!" breathed Sylar as he gave a couple of weak thrusts and then stilled, his twitching penis buried inside her and his hands still squeezing her breasts. "God. Oh god."

Sylar pulled out and mopped Claire up with something that felt like a bathroom towel. Still on her knees with her hands tied above the car door, Claire tried to grind back onto the towel as Sylar dabbed at her oversensitive sex, but he withdrew it before she could get anywhere. Asshole. Claire twisted around to sit down, her movements awkward due to her chained wrists and ankles. She discovered that Sylar had slipped another towel beneath her; unable to rearrange her clothing, Claire had to rest her bare bottom on it.

"I figured a towel would stop you staining the seat covers," explained Sylar. "Brown is good for hiding the blood."

"Yeah." Claire didn't really want to discuss the ongoing problem of her eternal virginity.

Sylar was sitting in the middle back seat beside hers, wiping himself off with another brown towel. When he was done, he threw the towel onto the floor and ran his hand through his disarrayed hair, trying to get the sticky mass to stay on top of his head. Claire thought it was difficult to decide what was uglier; the freaky furry eyebrows or the greasy long hair.

"How do you like the cuffs, by the way?" Sylar had convinced most of his hair to stay put and was now zipping up his flies. "Better than the cable ties?"

Claire shrugged. "I guess. What happened, you visited a sex shop?"

"No, no, I got them online. They were very expensive too," he added. "I chose comfortable ones that can support your body weight, so they're very versatile."

Claire got a feeling that he wanted her to thank him; like that was going to happen. "Where did you get the money?" she asked to change the subject.

"Oh, don't you know?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and taking on a conversational tone. "I can change objects into gold. It's very useful, especially with the price of gold at a 25-year high. I didn't have a bank account until recently, so I've had to rely on places that trade gold for cash. Not always very savory places," he added, as if his serial-killer conscience had somehow been shocked by the gold-trafficking world. "Paying cash only works in person, obviously, but now I can put that money in the bank and make online purchases."

Sylar grinned as if he had been a very clever boy to think of that. A stringy strand of hair felt into his eyes and he smoothed it back, combing his fingers through his hair and extracting his hand with a little shake. Claire's lip curled in disgust as she remembered putting her own fingers in that greasy mess the last time he had gone down on her.

"You should use some of that money to get a haircut," she said, because it didn't look as if he was planning to go down on her this time.

Sylar's good mood evaporated. "You might want to think twice before making remarks like that. You're not exactly in a position of strength."

"I'm never in a position of strength." Claire looked out of the window. A local bus drove past and she hoped no one could see her uncovered breasts. "There's always someone trying to rape or murder me and fuck all I can do about it except die and come back to life. I'm kinda getting used to it by now."

"Yeah. Passive powers must be a bitch when that's all you've got. Still, at least you don't feel pain." Claire shrugged but Sylar continued. "My plan for today is to test how far that extends, and how much pleasure you can endure. This was just an aside to get us in the mood." He paused. "You were enjoying that. Do you want me to touch you?"

Yes. "No." She wasn't about to admit that she wanted to get off; luckily, her arousal had dampened considerably during their conversation. "What I really want is to go back to my room and study for tomorrow's test."

"Ah okay, so you don't want me to get you off and you'd like to go back to college." Sylar grinned. "Well, I'm glad to say I can do one of those two things." Claire's heart sank and she rolled her eyes before Sylar even finished his sentence. "I won't take you back yet, but I will respect your wishes and not go down on you. I think it'll make you more receptive to my little test anyway."

Sylar silenced her before she could tell him what she thought of that plan. All Claire could do was shake her head as he got back into the front and drove off.

* * * * * * * * * *

Claire shivered a little in the cool air of the abandoned abattoir. It was ironic that Sylar should have chosen the location of her sorority scavenger hunt for his "little test". Sylar was, of course, aware of the connection; Claire was sure there were plenty of things he didn't know, but to all intents and purposes these days, he was pretty close to omniscient. She supposed it had the advantage of sparing her a lot of exposition.

Not that she was in any mood to reminisce right now. Claire grasped the hook above her wrists to shift her weight from one foot to the other; even for a regen who didn't feel pain, standing on tiptoe with her arms stretched above her head was not comfortable. There was enough slack in the chain connecting her wrists to allow her to stand on her flat feet, but that would mean wedging her naked crotch on the metal cattle stall between her legs and that just wasn't an option. Pain or no pain, she could already feel the radiating heat burning the skin on her inner thighs and had no desire to fill the air with the aroma of burnt pubic hair.

"Don't worry, it'll cool down eventually," said Sylar, pacing before her like a panther about to spring on his prey. He certainly knew how to look sinister for a guy who cried in his sleep. "I'm sure you'll be glad to rest your pretty little cunt on it in a few minutes."

Claire thought that was unlikely. Even if he hadn't used a power to bring the damn thing near to melting point, there was no way she was rubbing her pussy on a cattle stall for Sylar's perverted enjoyment. He already had her strung up naked to a meat hook hanging from the ceiling and she wasn't going to make it more fun for him by putting on a show. She might be an ex-cheerleader, but she wasn't a fucking pole dancer.

On the other hand, it didn't matter what she was; Sylar had unilaterally decided that she was his sex slave, and it was only really Claire's pride that prevented her from running to her father to put an end to this. She didn't want her father -- or Peter for that matter -- to save her from Sylar again. This was her fight and if anyone was going to bring him down this time, it was her. They could have their turn again next time.

"Here's the game," said Sylar, circling around her so that she couldn't see him anymore. "I know you were lying about wanting to get off earlier. In fact, I'm flattered you got that close. I guess I'm improving. I'm… I'm certainly working on it." There was a note of vulnerability in his voice which Claire would have found touching if she wasn't currently strung up over the abattoir version of a red hot poker. "I'll let you go when you come. Or in two hours, whichever comes first. I won't help you come so you'll have to make an effort on that one."

Claire decided to brace herself for two hours of mild discomfort. She wouldn't suffer from the cramps of a normal person and the thought that there was an end in sight would provide her with the necessary motivation to stand firm. Since the alternative would involve rubbing her pussy on the metal pole currently glowing red between her thighs, Claire intended to stay on tiptoes. She wondered why Sylar had devised this particular scenario. Maybe he liked the idea of burning her privates off and watching them regrow? That sounded a bit extreme even for Sylar.

"No, I don't expect you to sit on it right now," said Sylar, coming back into her field of vision. "I just thought a bit of jeopardy would make the experiment more interesting. I figured it would take something really extreme to make you feel in danger." He put his hand on her cheek and Claire had to resist the temptation to turn and bite his finger. Sylar cocked his head with curiosity. "But even this doesn't freak you out. You were a lot more upset when we had sex with Luke."

Different situation, thought Claire, since he didn't let her speak. _A. There was a complete stranger involved. B. I was about to have my period, so not so in control of my emotions. Now get the fuck out of my head and get on with it. You won't make me cry tonight._

"You really are a student. You even have numbered thoughts." Sylar gave her a sinister smile, curling his upper lip off his unnaturally white front teeth. "Very well. Since you're immune to pain, I thought I would try torturing you with pleasure instead."

That sounded like an odd concept; Claire frowned at him in incomprehension as he raised his hand. She felt a faint tickling sensation in the palms of her hands, as if an army of ants was suddenly milling around there. The feeling was far from unpleasant and Claire was unable to suppress a sigh of surprise as it spread down the inside of her arms and onto her bare chest, parting to circle her breasts. She jumped when it moved onto her ticklish ribs; her left thigh hit the hot metal rod and it seared her skin with a dull burning sensation until the skin healed again.

Claire moaned loudly as the onslaught continued; he had returned her voice, but she was too distracted to talk yet. The sensation, still tingling down from the palms of her hands, twisted around from her ribs to her lower back, enveloping her bottom and creeping down the back of her legs until practically every part of her body save her breasts, face and sex was being stimulated.

"Oh, oh, god," she groaned, overcome by the sensation as every invisible touch seemed to pulse down into her sex. Claire knew she was wet now, hot with need. Unable to help herself even though she knew it was no use, she tried to twist away from Sylar's telekinetic touch, not caring that the heated rod burned her upper thighs, branding her for a moment every time she moved. The tickling was a pleasant sensation in itself, but it was just too much.

Sylar was standing a few feet away, his head lowered so that he was looking at her under his dark brows, more sinister and evil than she had seen him since his return. Claire choked back a sob at the thought that she would have to yield. She couldn't withstand the gentle, tickling sensation all over her body for a whole two hours; it made her muscles twitch uncontrollably and she was more aroused than she had even been in the car. Noticing her distressed gaze on him, Sylar grinned and moved one hand down to gently rub the front of his jeans.

The sight of Sylar, evil incarnate, touching himself as he tortured her seemed to bring back every fantasy Claire had ever had of domination and submission. The fantasies had always been gentler than this -- bodice-ripper dreams of being swept off her feet, helpless and adored -- but her numb body probably needed something more extreme in reality. Claire moaned more loudly, her voice almost a scream as tears began to roll down her face.

Sylar closed the gap between them and pinched both her nipples, tweaking them as if he were tuning an old fashioned radio. The casual disdain on his narrow dark face seemed to heighten the sensations. She was a toy now, something for him to test and poke, to torture for his pleasure. Claire's legs were trembling, her feet struggling to remain on tiptoe, as her nipples shot lancing sensations into her sex. She wanted him to touch her; she almost begged, but bit her tongue, her pride still just stronger than her arousal.

"I knew I could make you scream," murmured Sylar, pressing his lips to hers.

In doing so, he immobilized all her body except her head, leaving her entirely at the mercy of his telekinesis. Claire whimpered as he slid his tongue into her mouth, too desperate for an end to even think of biting him or turning away. Somewhere in her over-stimulated mind, she processed the fact that the bar was no longer red, though it was still hot. She was past caring if it burned her sex as long as the tingling stopped.

"Bring yourself off and I'll stop."

Gulping as her sobs increased in earnest, Claire lowered her heels to the ground, straddling the hot metal bar. It would probably have been excruciating for any normal girl, but Claire's sex merely tingled, the pain starting then tapering off to a dull warmth as she rocked her hips to rub herself. Still crying with shame and defeat as Sylar's power continued to assault her skin, Claire moaned and whimpered as pleasure of a different kind started to build up between her legs. The tingling all over her skin faded away, leaving only Sylar's manual stimulation of her nipples and the warm metal sliding across her sex.

Claire bucked her hips and cried out as her orgasm finally hit her. She swore at him in silence, hating that he had been right about this perverted game. What was the matter with her? Coming shouldn't have been this easy under these horrid circumstances. Overcome by the orgasm and her conflicted feelings, Claire hung limply from the meat hook above her, her throbbing sex pressed uncomfortably on the rapidly cooling tube.

"Wow. You're really hot when you cry," said Sylar breathlessly.

"Fuck you, asshole!" sobbed Claire, trying to wipe her wet cheeks on her outstretched arms.

Sylar glowered at her, then smiled cruelly again. "You're not equipped. But I am."

Without warning, the sturdy metal structure beneath her crumpled flat onto the ground, and Claire herself was suddenly bent in half, her legs rising straight up in front of her. The chain on her right ankle reattached itself to her free strap and looped over the same hook as her arms. Suspended like some kind of game animal, Claire screamed and struggled to resist the demeaning position, but Sylar grabbed her hips and steadied her with an iron grip. The long chain suspending the hook from the ceiling rose a fraction to line up Claire's hips with Sylar's. Keeping her in place by gripping one taut thigh, Sylar unfastened his jeans.

The first thrust made Claire's head hang back through her arms and the constant movement made it hard for her to raise it again. Instead, she swallowed with difficulty and groaned as each movement of his hips twisted the leather straps around her wrists and ankles. With her head unsupported, Claire felt woozy and faintly aroused as Sylar's penis rubbed in and out of her again. She still managed to shout some obscenities at him as he started to rub her sensitive clitoris. It seemed to last forever but she finally came again, crying with shame at being so easy to stimulate. Sylar followed shortly after, bucking hard and holding her in place as he rode out his orgasm.

Claire wiped her face when he finally unhooked her. She stood shakily, shocked by what had just happened. She had really believed that she was invulnerable without pain, but Sylar had once again proved her wrong. Sylar was busy rearranging himself and picking up Claire's clothes. When he came closer, Claire unhooked one end of the chain between her wrists and used it to whack him violently across the face. It left an angry red mark over one cheek and the bridge of his nose, and Sylar yelped in pain, raising a hand automatically to protect himself from a further blow.

It wasn't much of a victory considering that he froze her before she could run away, but at least Claire felt the satisfaction of having done something. He grabbed her hair and forced her to kneel in front of him.

"Since you still want to play, Claire, I'll let you choose your punishment," said Sylar, though he didn't look as angry as she had expected. He was pleased if anything. "You can either suck me off until I come again, which I'll admit might take a while, or you can crawl out of here on your hands and knees." Claire's eyes widened at this ridiculous choice. "Choose, Claire. Suck or crawl?"

What the hell was the matter with this guy? Claire swallowed, glanced at Sylar crotch, imagining his flaccid dick covered in her blood and his ejaculate, and made her decision. "C-crawl."

"Good choice." Sylar waved his hand and the chains reconnected to her wrists and ankles. "It was on my list of things to do another time, but now will be fine. Go."

Angrily biting back the tears that threatened to fall again, Claire turned away from Sylar and began to crawl towards the exit. The chains on her arms and legs clinked on the dirty concrete floor and restricted her movements so that her progress was very slow. Sylar followed behind, carrying her clothes and bag.

* * * * * * * * * *

"You wanna grab some nosh?" Sylar sounded so casual that Claire had to turn and glare at him, even though she had promised herself she would only look out of the window and give him the silent treatment. "Traffic's bad. We could stop off on the way and wait until it gets better."

"No, thanks."

"Maybe another day, then?" continued Sylar.

Was he seriously asking her out on a date? Claire was in the front now; presumably her reward for complying with his disgusting command and crawling all the way to the slaughterhouse entrance. Sylar had allowed her to dress and tidy up before they left; aside from the fact that she was still pantyless and had a towel between her legs to prevent her staining her dress, there was now little sign of the bizarre torture he had just put her through. Claire didn't even feel upset, just numb, as if her mind were putting thoughts on hold until she was out of Sylar's presence.

When Claire didn't answer, Sylar dropped the topic of dinner and drove silently. As he had pointed out, the traffic really was bad. After a few more minutes, it became apparent why. One of the commuter buses Claire had noticed earlier had been involved in an accident and was lying overturned on the river bank by the road. Even from their position, Claire could see that the bus was gradually sinking as it slid down the bank. Emergency services had arrived and a large crane was attempting to pull it back onto the road, but it seemed to be having little success.

"Oh, my god! Can you pull it out?" exclaimed Claire, the numbness in her mind dispelled by her concern for the people still trapped in the bus.

"Me? Why would I want to?" said Sylar with a shrug.

"Sylar! You have to," insisted Claire. She couldn't stand by and let people die when the man beside her could save them. "Come on. I- I let you do all that… stuff to me, you can at least do something for me!"

It was a lame argument since he had actually forced her to do the rubbing… and the crawling… and all the crying… Claire dismissed the ordeal firmly and hoped Sylar wouldn't notice the lack of logic.

"Yeah, I guess except for hitting me, you were very good," he conceded. "I enjoyed it. I'm thinking we'll do something on Monday."

Okay. She had to promise to let him torture her again in exchange for those people's lives. Claire could do that.

"Can it be Sunday?" she asked, hoping that wouldn't completely blow her chances of getting him to comply. "I'm moving my stuff to Dad's on Monday."

Sylar appeared to consider that. "Okay. I thought you might be celebrating or something this weekend. Sunday it is, then. It's a date."

_No, it isn't_, thought Claire, though she was puzzled that Sylar had dismissed the weekend because he thought she would be doing something else. Upon reflection, she also realized that he had chosen the best day this week for their meeting; the exams she had tomorrow required less preparation than the ones she had on other days. She wasn't sure what that meant. It was hard to imagine that a guy who referred to her as a sex slave and enjoyed making her cry was concerned about fitting in seamlessly to her existing schedule.

Claire was trying not to imagine what Sylar planned to put her through on Sunday, when there was a sudden collective exclamation from the people gathered around the bus. The chains on the crane went slack as the bus miraculously pulled back out of the mud. It stopped at the edge of the road, no longer trapped, so that the crane could continue its work. After a few minutes, the bus was laying on the road and the crane moved away. Traffic was allowed to resume.

"Thanks," said Claire, genuinely pleased with Sylar. "That was… that was fantastic."

He gave her what could only be described as a bashful grin. It was hard to tell in the evening light, but Claire could have sworn that he blushed a little too. It kind of freaked her out.


	3. Drugs Alcohol

**3 - Drugs/alcohol**

_Bonus kinks: dub con, __semi-public sex, misuse of champagne (but no Tyler Shields in sight) and bondage (as usual)_

Claire entered the diner with trepidation. Sylar's message informing her of their meeting place was terse and to the point, but even though it gave no orders, Claire had decided to play it safe and respected all his previous gross requests. She was wearing nothing but the purple dress and a pair of shoes, and had put the BDSM restraints in her purse.

She wondered what he had in store for her. Claire liked to think that she was tough enough to withstand anything after all the crap she had lived through, but she had to admit that the torture in the slaughterhouse had been too much. The thing that had bothered her most was the crawling; it implied a lack of respect for her humanity which even the rapes hadn't conveyed. Claire was hoping that this session would involve nothing worse than semi-public molestation, or preferably normal sex in a bed. But she wasn't getting her hopes up too high.

Sylar was sitting in a booth at the back, reading a novel with an iced coffee in one hand. Despite her fears, Claire couldn't help smiling when she saw him. He was clean shaven and his dark hair was neatly trimmed, no longer stringy and greasy as it had been the last time she saw him. Even though he had taken offense at the time, he had listened to what she said.

"Hi," she said as she approached.

"Oh, hey. I didn't see you there."

Sylar put down his book and stood up. Claire realized that it wasn't just a gentlemanly gesture; he indicated the empty space beside him. She scooted into the corner of the booth, between Sylar and the wall.

"Nice hair," she commented.

Sylar grinned and half-shrugged. He waved the waitress over and Claire ordered a chocolate milkshake.

"You look nice too," he said, leaning in to kiss her mouth.

Claire sat passively while he kissed her, even though her heart was beating fast, filled with simultaneous excitement and apprehension. The least one could say about their encounters was that they were interesting. Sylar pulled away when the waitress brought Claire's drink, smiling benevolently at them as if they were young lovers.

"I brought you something," said Claire, placing her bag in between them before Sylar could stick his tongue down her throat again. She handed him the folded paper. "Gretchen always gets the local paper, and there was a mention of the bus we saw on Wednesday."

"Only a couple of lines," commented Sylar, reading the article. "I bet they were disappointed no one died. Still, twenty-three people." He smiled and cocked an eyebrow at her. "I hope that made it worth your while. I mean for the stuff in the slaughterhouse."

Claire sighed and sipped her drink. She had kind of hoped that bringing him the article might make him proud, maybe encourage him to do the right thing for its own sake. But no, he just saw it as payment for the ordeal he had put her through.

"Thanks," said Sylar after a pause. "It's, um… very thoughtful."

Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw him fold the paper and tuck it in his shirt pocket. Sylar put Claire's bag on the floor and sidled up to her. Seeing no alternative, she raised her face towards his when he cupped her chin, though she focused on his ear rather than his eyes. She noticed that he had small ears for such a large man, with practically no earlobe.

Claire closed her eyes as he kissed her again. Sylar was a good kisser for a rapist; Ryan and West had both tended to stick their tongue down her throat like it was some kind of dick. Sylar seemed more focused on the actual act of kissing, sucking on her lips with his and licking gently her tongue. It was more like Gretchen's technique only with added stubble.

Sylar slipped his hand under her skirt and Claire jumped a little as his fingers, cooled by the iced coffee, brushed against her sex.

"Hmm, no panties, and I didn't even ask," he murmured. "You are a good girl."

He kissed her again before she could answer, his hand moving between her legs at the same time. Leaning back in the corner of the booth, her legs slightly parted under the table, Claire could feel her body inexplicably responding to the dual sensations. Sylar's fingers were sliding more easily along her folds as she became wet and it wasn't long before he parted her lips and teased the entrance of her vagina. Claire tensed, clenching her muscles instinctively to fight the intrusion. She was acutely aware of the circumstances; people probably watching, the fact that she was parting her legs for her parents' murderer, and not least, remembering the demeaning treatment he had put her through the last time they met.

Claire tried to turn her face away, breaking the kiss, but he froze her in place. She grunted involuntarily as Sylar pushed a finger inside her. She could feel his other knuckles rubbing against her inner thighs and then against the outer folds of her sex when he shoved all the way in. He kissed her again, using his free hand to keep her head in position.

Unable to move much, Claire forced herself to relax; there was very little she could do against a man who could move a bus full of people with his mind. She needed to heed Luke's advice and just enjoy the ride until the day she could make Sylar stop. In the meantime, she hoped no one could see what he was doing.

Sylar pulled away after a moment, nuzzling her cheek gently, his eyes hooded with arousal. The finger inside her continued to move back and forth, fucking her lightly. Freed from his control, Claire fought the urge to push him away or smack him; it would draw attention and no doubt encourage Sylar to do something worse.

"Gosh, Claire. You make me so hot," whispered Sylar, his breath tickling her ear.

"Gee, and all I'm doing is sitting here," muttered Claire.

A fat guy sweating at one of the tables across the aisle smirked at her. Claire felt sick and shifted her hips, twisting away from Sylar. To her surprise, he took the hint and pulled his finger out. He followed her gaze; the fat man lowered his eyes and paid hastily, leaving the diner.

"What did you do to him?" asked Claire in alarm.

"Nothing," said Sylar, discreetly wiping his finger under the table with a napkin. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I can look kind of scary when I want to."

Claire decided not to rise to the bait and tell him exactly what she thought of his looks. She just nodded politely and drank her milkshake. Sylar turned towards her, raising one leg on the bench.

"You did well last time and I want to reward you," he said. "So I'm going to give you what you want most. I know you feel like a freak because your ability suppresses pain. I can fix that."

He pulled out a small pill bottle and placed it on the table with a proud smile. Claire stared at it with apprehension.

"These are the pills the Company used to keep its long-term inmates in check," explained Sylar. "An ex-Primatech employee sold the formula and they've been on sale online ever since the government witch hunt last year, so I picked up a few for you. They're not as potent as the ones the Company made, but they do work. Take one and your ability will be switched off for two to three hours."

Claire had often thought that the loss of pain was the most dehumanizing aspect of her power. She remembered Peter accidentally disabling her ability at Nathan's wake and how welcome the sting of lemon juice had felt on the small cut on her finger. Feeling pain did make her feel normal. However, there was no way in hell she was going to let Sylar anywhere near her when she couldn't heal.

"No," said Claire, disgusted by the terror she felt at the thought of Sylar torturing her without her ability. He was a sadist; a repeat of Wednesday's scene would keep her in agony for hours. She swallowed, hating herself for begging. "Please. Please don't do that to me."

Sylar looked puzzled. "It's only to make you feel normal again," he argued. His eyes widened as realization dawned on him. "You think I'm doing this just so I can hurt you?"

"Of course I do," she snarled angrily, keeping her voice low, but too scared to contain her anger. "You strung me up over a freaking red hot metal pole! You- you spanked me in front of Luke. You're a sadist and I am not a masochist!"

Sylar smirked. "Well, I'll take your word for that. But as long as you comply, I'll have no reason to hurt you. The spanking was a punishment, and the pole was an experiment. There would have been no point going that far if you could feel pain, and definitely not while you couldn't heal. I'll admit I haven't always been gentle with my victims," he said with a cruel smile, "but since you have agreed to be my sex slave, I intend to be a good master."

The idea of Sylar being her "master" made her want to puke, but the pills were still on the table. Claire had to humor Sylar if she wanted to keep them out of her throat.

"Um, good," she said cautiously, trying to be polite without lying. "I-I think a good master is better than a bad master."

"I knew you'd be sensible about this. I won't force you to take the pills right now," he continued, putting the bottle away. "But they're there if you change your mind." He tucked a stand of hair behind her ear and took a deep, satisfied breath. "Now, if you like, we could go get something to eat, maybe catch a movie, then have some fun later."

Claire stared at him. She tried to imagine having dinner and "catching a movie" with Sylar. He had already finger fucked her tonight; he would probably make her go down on him in the theater or something. It would be anything but a normal date. More to the point, she was nervous enough about his sex-related plans already; having to sit through dinner and a movie before finding out what he planned would be excruciating.

"That sounds nice," she said, hoping that he wouldn't detect a lie and go ballistic. "Um, having fun sounds nice, though."

That had to be a true statement whatever the context, and Sylar looked pleased. Claire was disgusted at herself for implying that she wanted to have sex with the guy who had raped her, but these were exceptional circumstances, and she firmly told herself that she needn't be ashamed.

Sylar ran his hand up her inner thigh and cupped her sex again.

"So you'd prefer to cut to the chase?" he purred.

"Yes," she said frankly. That was the truth. She wouldn't have to wait to find out what he had planned, and she wouldn't have to listen to him talking about himself for hours.

"Fine. I booked a hotel room around the corner, so I guess we can go straight there," said Sylar with a grin. "We can always order room service if we're hungry."

Sylar handed Claire her bag and led her out of the diner. At least this way, he'd get on with the sexual torture -- Claire swallowed hard with trepidation at the thought -- and she would be back in her dorm for a good night's sleep. She was moving her stuff to her father's apartment in the morning; that was going to be weird enough, and doubly weird after whatever horrible thing Sylar planned to do to her tonight.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sylar was a little surprised when Claire turned down his offer of a date. He had imagined that she would jump at the chance to do something normal after their last encounter, so he had looked up restaurant reviews and checked the times at the local theatre. His intention was to reign in his more bizarre tendencies for the evening and use Nathan's experience to charm Claire for a change. Part of him was annoyed that his research would go to waste, but on the other hand, Claire had gotten so turned on by him touching her that she had actually requested sex; he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity like that.

In any case, it wasn't as if he had found Claire to be very interesting company when they had spent a week-end together at his father's house. She was an eighteen-year-old girl and he was a thirty-three-year-old man; aside from some intriguing similarities in their pasts and a common interest in kinky sex, they didn't have a great deal to discuss.

The hotel room Sylar had booked was ostensibly the "honeymoon suite" but turned out to be just a large room with a super king sized bed. Although Sylar didn't dwell on those memories, he knew that Nathan had enjoyed this room a great deal in recent years. He took some perverse pleasure from the idea of screwing the politician's daughter in this very room where a series of interns and secretaries had dropped their panties. Sylar chuckled privately at the thought that Claire had very obligingly dropped her panties before they even started.

"Stand here," he ordered, indicating a spot by the entrance as he locked the door.

Claire dropped her bag onto the floor and obeyed, standing still while Sylar settled in one of the arm chairs. She looked nervous now, her small eyes following Sylar's movements with apprehension. Enjoying the attention, Sylar stayed quiet for a long time, appraising her while he decided which fantasy he would play out tonight.

"Sylar, can we get on with it? Um, please," said Claire, unable to stand the silence any longer. "I still have stuff to pack tonight before I move out of the dorm."

Sylar grinned. "I am getting on with it. You know I like a little game with my sex."

Claire rolled her eyes. She stared at a point on the wall behind him and waited while Sylar continued to admire her. Claire was a pretty girl; she wore too much makeup, but her blonde hair was loose over her shoulders and she looked young and desirable. The purple dress suited her; the full skirt clung to the top of her hips and the tight bodice emphasized the dip of her waist.

Its only flaw was that the wide shoulder straps that covered her chest were too loose and tended to slide off her shoulders; Sylar flicked a finger and the straps both slid off at once. They caught on Claire's upper arms, still high enough to cover her breasts but already baring her solid shoulders. Another flick and the straps slid further down, uncovering the white triangles of untanned skin around her little pink nipples as her chest was fully exposed.

Sylar imagined himself licking the tips of her nipples; Claire caught her breath and wet her lips as her nipples rose in response to the stimulation. A shot of arousal coursed through Sylar's veins as he remembered how wet she had become in the diner. Claire might not think she was enjoying his attentions, but her body at least had a different idea.

The question was what to do with her now. He had plenty of plans in mind, but the one he had originally picked -- using the pills to test her reaction to pain during sex -- didn't appeal as much now that she had come here willingly. Perhaps it was the influence of Nathan's many memories of consensual sex, but Sylar liked the idea of Claire wanting him out of her free will. He decided to reserve pain for the next time she deserved a punishment.

"I have to say, you're a quick learner, Claire," he said. "You get a bonus point for dressing the part. Now, why don't you show me what else you've learned since we've been together?"

"Aside from the fact you're a kinky asshole?" she muttered under her breath.

Sylar didn't need his long-lost superhearing to catch that. "That's one malus point for being rude," he said.

'Malus' being the Latin antonym of 'bonus', Sylar thought it was an appropriately pedantic word to use on a college girl. He had actually read about it in an article about car insurance, but Claire didn't need to know that. He glanced at his watch and an idea popped into his head.

"Tell you what, since you're in a rush, you'll get time off for good behavior. I could keep you busy until eleven p.m. but I'll deduct ten minutes for every point you earn." Sylar leaned forward in his seat, excited by the game that was forming in his mind. "One point for every one of my previous requests that you remember and obey. Double points for initiative. How does that sound?"

Claire stopped pretending to look at the wall behind him and stared at him in disbelief. He could tell that she was torn between wanting to tell him to fuck off and her fear of incurring another malus point; assuming that she even knew what "malus" meant.

"Can't I just lie on the bed?" she said finally.

Sylar shrugged. "Another malus point for arguing. Like I said, if you don't play, I'll keep you here until eleven p.m. You'll get kind of bored just lying on the bed for four hours."

"Yeah," said Claire, gritting her teeth. "Even including the twenty seconds when you actually screw me."

Before he could even think about it, Sylar waved his finger and Claire flew into the wall, suspended halfway up by an invisible hand around her neck. She grimaced but didn't bother to struggle, though she did raise her arms to slip the wide straps on the dress back over her breasts.

"The rules are very simple, Claire. Time off for good behavior. Punishments for bad behavior," said Sylar, not bothering to stand up. A wicked smile twisted his lips as a good punishment came to mind. "I had hoped to explain this to you later, but malus points work on a 'three strikes and you're out' basis. Since you apparently can't control your tongue, we'll start with your punishment."

Keeping her suspended, Sylar opened his backpack and pulled out the bottle of pills.

"Sylar, please, don't do that!" she begged. "Listen, the last time my ability was disabled for more than a couple of minutes was when you and Elle shot me. I have no immunity at all. I died of septic shock!"

Sylar hesitated as the memories from that fateful day flooded his mind. Elle had been trying to shoot Bennet and hit Claire when the stupid girl threw herself in front of her father. That was the day Sylar discovered the Petrellis' deception. The day Elle gave herself to him and he repaid her by putting an end to her life. The day all his hopes of turning back the tide of his destiny had died.

"That was a busy day," he said bitterly, opening the bottle. "I died too, you know. Your father slit my throat with a box cutter. Tit for tat, I guess, with you lying in hospital. Another parallel in our lives."

Sylar held up one of the pills. Claire looked at it with such terror that something like pity stirred in Sylar. He dismissed it firmly as another annoying side-effect of his brainwashing, but the immunity issue gave him pause. It would ruin his evening if she died of an infection. He held out the pill in the palm of his hand and burst it in half.

"I'm not going to shoot you, Claire," he assured her. "And as I intend to be a good master, I'll only give you enough to disable the ability for a short while. But I need you to do as you're told and I figure that'll be easier if you know I can hurt you if I have to. Besides, you want to be normal, don't you? Normal people play these games too."

He hadn't investigated the matter very far, but Googling for the bondage straps had brought up a host of images that were now burned in his mind. Strange as they were, at least Sylar knew his fantasies were relatively common. He wondered if all the women in the photographs had been coerced like Claire. For some reason, that thought bothered him.

All this talk and emotional nonsense had killed his arousal, but Sylar didn't want to back down now. He forced Claire's mouth open, rammed a half pill into it and kept her still until she swallowed reflexively. He let her drop to her feet. Claire touched her throat and glared at him as if she couldn't believe he had just done that to her.

"You son of a bitch!" she exclaimed. "How am I going to regenerate if I die while the pill is still working?"

"I'm not going to fucking kill you!" snapped Sylar, irritated that his game was spoiled. "Now, let's get back to what we were doing. I'll be generous and give you points for dressing correctly and being compliant in the diner. Earn a few more points and you'll be free at ten. Three more malus points, on the other hand, and I'll remind you exactly what pain feels like. Now, show me what you've learned."

Claire looked as if she couldn't believe what he was demanding. Her pretty little face filled with teenage defiance, she turned away from him and undid the zipper on her dress. Sylar relaxed in his chair. He hoped she would earn a couple of hours off so he could have his fun, then kick her out and still have time to get himself something to eat. In the meantime, he started keeping track of the points she was accruing.

Claire had already earned one point apiece for being naked under the dress and letting him touch her. In fact, he was tempted to add another point for her being turned on as well, which was a big bonus in his mind. On the other hand, it was perhaps best not to make the game too easy.

One point for removing her dress and shoes so she was standing naked in front of him. Although she had turned away, he could still see one breast in profile, a perfect little mound topped with a pointed nipple. Like her shoulders, her back gave an impression of strength, but it was belied by the very feminine tapering in of her waist and the rounded curve of her ass. Sylar's arousal returned.

One point for walking naked to get her bag, her breasts jiggling attractively with every step. Claire crouched down to rummage in her purse, her back to Sylar in an effort to conceal her sexual attributes. He could just glimpse a tuft of moisture-darkened hair between her legs and he wondered if she was turned on by this game. Definitely another point if she was.

One point for bringing her restraints. Sylar took a deep breath. Make that two points; she'd made it clear last time that she hated the things after he used them to suspend her from the ceiling, but she had still brought them with her. She was really playing the game well.

One point for putting all four straps on, even if Claire still had her back to him and he wanted to see her face. Opening his mind to her emotions, Sylar could sense that she was turned on, but also resigned and filled with righteous indignation. Claire pulled the two chains out of her bag and observed them, apparently unsure what to do.

Sylar added a point when Claire sighed and clipped one of the chains between her ankles. Another point when she clipped the remaining chain to her left wrist strap, though he interrupted her before she fastened the other end.

"Put your hands behind your back and loop the chain onto your ankle chain," he ordered.

Claire turned to look at him over her shoulder, her finely shaped eyebrows raised in shock. Given her usually grumpy countenance, Sylar appreciated the fleeting look of innocent surprise; it reminded him suddenly how young she was. Claire heaved another deep sigh and put her hands behind her back, complying with his instructions so that her wrists and ankles were loosely bound to each other. It wasn't enough to make her uncomfortable, but it incapacitated her hands and rendered her unable to walk or even crawl.

Curious to see what she would do next, Sylar observed her in silence, admiring the chains crisscrossing her large white bottom. After a moment's hesitation, Claire shuffled around to face him on her knees. She earned an extra point for spreading her thighs slightly, even though she looked annoyed as she did so.

"I guess that's all I can think of," she said, her slightly husky voice betraying none of the shame he could feel pouring off her emotions.

"That's very good," he said. He was too turned on to remember how many points she had got. "I guess we'll finish around nine p.m. instead of eleven."

Claire looked pleased. "Oh good."

Even then, Sylar wasn't sure how long he could keep his hands off her or what he would do if there was time left after they had sex. Now that his prowess was improving, Sylar might consider a second round, but he wasn't sure if Claire could manage that without her ability. He dismissed his musings impatiently; this kind of self-doubt appeared to be yet another remnant of his ordeal. He focused his attention back on the present moment.

Opening his backpack, Sylar pulled out one of the scarves he had bought when he first captured her. Claire watched with visible trepidation as he walked over to her and tied a large knot in the scarf.

"Open up," he ordered, placing the knot in front of her lips.

"I might choke if you put that in my mouth," she said, looking up at him in horror.

"No, you won't," said Sylar, cocking his head to one side. "I take it your power is gone now?"

Claire swallowed hard and nodded. "Everything feels weird."

"I'll be careful then," he said gently. "But that's a malus point for refusing to do something. You have to trust me, Claire. I have enough abilities to tell if you're going to choke."

Claire looked aghast, no doubt realizing that another punishment would be imminent if she wasn't careful. Sylar pressed the knot in the scarf to her lips again; Claire closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Sylar fed the knot in between her teeth and tied the scarf around her head. The makeshift gag wouldn't do much to stop Claire talking, but it completed the look that the bonds created. She looked helpless and embarrassed, and the wave of arousal that flooded Sylar's senses made him feel lightheaded. He crouched beside her and kissed her cheek.

He had just slipped his hand in between her legs when they were interrupted by a knock on the door. He caught Claire's eye and they exchanged a puzzled look before Sylar levitated her into the bathroom, closing the door to conceal her from sight. He laughed when he realized what the bellboy had brought. Someone had taken their use of the "honeymoon" suite a little too literally.

"Claire, can you imagine that the hotel staff actually thinks we're on our honeymoon?" he said, leaning into the bathroom when the man was gone. "Look what they gave us!"

Claire lifted her eyebrows as he showed her the bottle of champagne. Sylar smiled at the sight of her kneeling naked on the tiled floor with her hands tied behind her back, the colorful scarf obstructing her mouth. Claire looked like a slave, captive and bound for her master; Sylar wasn't sure why, but there was something familiar about the sight that aroused him and filled him with an emotion oddly like comfort. Even he found that a little disturbing.

The only thing spoiling the image was that the scarf was making Claire dribble. Sylar didn't find that very attractive; he removed it and froze her vocal chords instead. Claire glared at him when she realized what he had done.

"I guess we might as well drink it," said Sylar, looking at the bottle in his hand.

He opened it with a thought but didn't realize it had been shaken by the trip up to their room. The frothy liquid spurted out, hitting the floor and Claire's naked thigh. She frowned at him, no doubt thinking some obscenity, and Sylar laughed. The hotel had provided glasses but he took a swig from the bottle before putting it to Claire's lips.

"Here, maybe this will cheer you up," he said.

Had she been able to speak, Claire might have objected on the grounds that she wasn't of legal drinking age. Instead, she just opened her mouth and let him pour a small quantity onto her tongue.

"I'm guessing you haven't tasted that before," said Sylar.

Claire shrugged so he asked her if she wanted some more. Since the response was another almost Gallic shrug, Sylar tipped the bottle again, higher up this time so Claire had to lift her face to drink. There was something strangely arousing about forcing her to drink like this, watching her throat move as she swallowed in increasingly erratic gulps.

Feeling a familiar evil impulse rise inside him, Sylar gradually raised the bottle higher, moving it back and forth so that Claire had to chase the champagne with her open mouth to prevent it from splashing all over her. She only succeeded for a short while before the bottle was too high; champagne splashed onto her face and hair, tricking down her extended throat.

Some part of Sylar, whether it was Nathan or just the shred of decency of the man he had once been, told him that he should stop now but he didn't. He continued to pour the champagne on Claire even though she was gasping and trying to pull away. Seen without the bottle, the yellow liquid looked like something else and Sylar felt both repulsed and intrigued. He spurted the last drops onto her and put the bottle down on the floor.

Claire's head was bowed now; she tried to shake the champagne off of her face and hair, spattering the lower part of Sylar's pants. A thin stream wound its way down Claire's left breast, dripping off her nipple onto her thigh. Soon another one found its way between her breasts and along her belly until it disappeared into her pubic hair. When she looked up to glare at him, Claire's wet hair was dark and stuck to her face; something about her made him think of a wild animal, soiled and dangerous.

The sadistic impulse that had made him shower her in champagne quietened. Arousing though the experience had been, a tiny part of Sylar was shocked by the fact that he had just emptied a bottle of champagne on Claire. That was kinkier than anticipated. The bathroom now stank of wine and the floor was drenched with it.

Sylar freed Claire's hands so she could wipe her hair out of her face, releasing her voice at the same time. As it dried, the champagne left sticky streaks that shone like a bizarre pattern on her naked skin. Smoothing back her sodden hair, Claire looked up at Sylar and, surprisingly, smiled.

"God, you are one sick puppy, Sylar," said Claire. She licked her fingers and Sylar was so aroused and startled by the erotic gesture that he was speechless. "Hmm. Champagne does taste nice though."

What the hell? Intrigued, Sylar stroked her head, pulling her hair slightly to tilt her head up. "You enjoyed that?"

"Uh, no," she said, her pink tongue licking her shiny lips.

The statement registered as false; Sylar gripped her hair hard enough to make her yelp in surprise. "Now, now, don't lie, Claire, you know I don't like that."

"Oh yeah, how could I forget?" she said, rolling her eyes. "Another 'malus' point, I guess?"

Claire shifted her position, her knees splashing in the shallow puddle of champagne beneath her until she was kneeling before him, her back straight and her hands clasped in front of her pert little breasts. Sylar released her hair.

"Oh, please, master, don't punish me," she said in a playful, slightly slurred voice. She looked up at him and batted her eyelashes; her mascara was smudged, making her eyes look greener than usual. "I promise I'll be a good girl and earn loads more points."

There was enough sarcasm in her statement to trip his lie detection again, but it finally dawned on Sylar that Claire was drunk. He felt a twinge of misplaced guilt at the idea of taking advantage of a young girl after forcing her to drink alcohol. It was the same strange impulse that had saved Micah and Molly's lives, and stopped Sylar from raping a 17-year-old Claire at the Stanton. He dismissed it easily.

"Don't push me or you'll get another punishment," he warned her, though he decided to forgive the sarcasm this once since she seemed to be in a playful mood. "So what do you think I should do with you now?"

Worry flashed across Claire's pretty face, but her expression brightened almost immediately. "Maybe you should clean me?" she said, looking up at him coquettishly. "I mean, I am a very dirty girl."

Sylar laughed at the insincerity of her tone, but he liked Claire as a willing participant in his game. Although she was lying, he appreciated the things she was saying.

"Oh yes, you are a dirty little girl, Claire," he said. "Stand up."

Claire obeyed, graceful despite the chain connecting her ankles. Sylar held her arms and turned her around so she was leaning against the shower cubicle. He kissed her, intending to back her into the cubicle; his plan was to undress and then join her for a shower. He all but forgot his plan when he realized that Claire was kissing him back, her little tongue in his mouth and her chained arms around his neck. Since it seemed to be something she liked, he slid his middle finger between her legs again, pumping it into her moist sex harder than before. Uninhibited by the alcohol, Claire moaned and ground her hips against his hand.

"Do you like this?" he murmured.

"Oh fuck off," she groaned.

Remembering that this was her third malus in a row, Sylar slapped her ass hard enough to sting. She bucked her hips, trying to move away from him, but couldn't because she was impaled on his finger. He smacked her rump again and she whimpered.

"Ow! Okay, yes, I like this!" she snapped.

The admission gave Sylar a thrill; he pressed his lips to her cheek this time, and snaked out his tongue to taste the remnants of the champagne on her soft skin. When she didn't say anything, he continued, lapping his way down to her breasts. He had to lean down uncomfortably to get a good angle, but he was rewarded by a little moan.

Very pleased with himself, Sylar sucked her nipple into his mouth, worrying it lightly with his teeth. Claire whimpered again but none of his abilities suggested that she was in real pain, so Sylar continued sucking, adding occasional nibbles as he continued to play with her sex. His erection was caught up in his underwear, straining to escape the elastic supporting his briefs; he rearranged it without stroking himself, wanting the game to last as long as possible. When a couple more minutes had passed, Sylar used his thumb to rub Claire's clitoris with a little added electricity, just as he had done in the photo booth two weeks earlier.

Claire was panting now, her hips shifting slightly in rhythm with Sylar's hand. Fucking her was fantastic, of course, but playing with her like this, forcing her to take pleasure from what he was doing to her while he watched seemed to satisfy some deep seated need within him. He dropped to his knees; keeping his finger inside her, he spread her pubic hair with his other hand and replaced his thumb with his tongue.

"Oh god," moaned Claire. "Sylar!"

He could feel her arousal so clearly that Sylar had to stop what he was doing to regain control of himself. Even if he would recover and be ready for action again shortly, it would be a shame to waste an orgasm on the inside of his underwear. After a deep breath, Sylar pressed his nose to her pubic mound and started licking again. Claire's chained hands came down to rest on his head, her fingers curling into his short hair, and he could sense her climax building up inside her body. She tugged at his hair as she came with a loud cry, mumbling incoherently as she rode the orgasm for several seconds.

Sylar stayed as he was, the hand between her legs supporting her weight as she recovered. Claire looked down at him.

"You look as if you're wearing a mustache," she giggled.

"And you look like a drowned rat," he muttered with irritation. He'd just given her possibly the best orgasm she'd ever experienced at his hands, and she was making fun of him.

"I'm not a drowned rat," she said flirtatiously. She ran her hands up her body, letting the chain trail over her skin. "I'm your dirty girl."

Sylar decided that drunken Claire was weird, but fun. His heart sank a little at the thought that raping her from the start had probably destroyed any chance of her ever being like this while she was sober. Sylar stood up and kissed Claire. On impulse, he released all her chains and straps, and picked her up.

"My turn to have some fun," he said.

"Oh good," she said without enthusiasm. "Does that mean I can go afterwards?"

"Yes."

Sylar grabbed a couple of towels and carried her to the bed. She lay on the spread out towels, her matted hair tangled around her small round face. Sylar removed his pants and shirt -- both smeared with champagne now -- though he kept his vest and briefs on. Claire had seen him naked before, but he felt he had lost some of the control he had had during their previous encounters, and being dressed while she was still naked seemed like a way to redress that.

Lying on her back, Claire spread her legs as he climbed on top of her. Something occurred to him as he pulled his erection out of his briefs and rubbed the head between her folds. He was afraid that Claire might lose her playful compliance if he mentioned it, so he positioned himself and pushed inside.

"Ow!" she yelped, her green eyes wide. "Oh shit, I forgot about that."

"Yeah, me too," murmured Sylar, though there was no way he was stopping now.

Claire winced and held on to his shoulders. Sylar kissed her forehead because it was within easy reach, then bent over to get to her mouth. She barely kissed him back, probably too focused on the pain of losing her virginity to think about playing anymore. The mushy part that seemed to be taking over made Sylar feel a little guilty for causing her this kind of pain.

His more normal self on the other hand was very turned on by the thought that he was the first to hurt her like this, and by the visual image of effectively stabbing her with his penis. He let his abilities drink in her pain and fear, reveling in their combination with his own intense pleasure. Though he was tempted to thrust away and pursue his own end, Sylar gave in to a sadistic impulse to make Claire feel that heady mixture of emotions too. He imagined himself going down on her again, pictured every fold and nerve ending in her sex so that she would feel pleasure even though his erection was scraping painfully against her torn hymen.

"No," she murmured. "Ow, ow, no. Oh god, oh no."

Feeling his own orgasm ready to burst out of his balls at her mewling noises, Sylar used his ability to put pressure on his perineum almost to the point of pain, reigning in his ejaculation to remain hard. The suppressed orgasm shook his body, making him cry out. Claire looked up at him hopefully, no doubt thinking that the ordeal was over.

Sylar gave her his best evil smile and continued. He knew she didn't want to come like this; her emotions were crystal clear in his empathic mind, but he was the first to make her feel this and he wanted her to remember enjoying it. Claire glared at him with hatred as she climaxed with a loud cry. Sylar let go of all his control, thrust a few times and groaned.

"Oh, Claire. Oh, that was good," he moaned, collapsing on top of her. He panted for a few seconds, hot and sweaty despite the air-conditioning, before adding, "I'm sorry."

He froze, horrified at what he had just said. The point of taking Claire had been to exact his revenge and be in control. Apologizing because he had hurt her didn't seem to fit either of those goals. On the other hand, he had never hurt her before because she couldn't feel pain. Maybe he wouldn't have taken her all the way to his father's house if she'd been hurt when they first had sex in the car. But then, exacting revenge was all about hurting Claire; and hurting people had been an important part of his life. Admittedly, except for the agent at Luke's house and a couple of his victims, he had mostly focused on killing people as quickly as possible. He liked to frighten them, but not necessarily torture them. Or was he just whitewashing his own past?

"Um, Sylar, are you okay? Only, you're kind of heavy."

Sylar blinked and realized that his mental musings had gone on too long. He knew where the apology had come from; Nathan's memory of deflowering a girl when he was in college. Sylar pulled out of Claire with a squelching noise and wiped himself on the towel before pulling up his briefs. Further annoyed by the fact that Claire had just asked if he was okay, Sylar sat up and smirked at her.

"I'm fine. I just never imagined that I would be your first."

"You're not," said Claire, sitting up and pulling the towel between her legs. As usual, her reaction to violation was anger. "You're just the first dickhead who got to hurt me like that. Now… Please may I have a shower, master?"

"Sure," said Sylar, amused by the combination of her usual acerbic self and the half-hearted slave play. He would make her play that game when she was sober next time. They were going to have a lot of fun.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Claire came out of the bathroom, feeling fresh and clean again, she was sober and had made two decisions. One was that she was going to humor Sylar if it meant playing silly games like tonight's and not creepy scary ones like the previous encounter. The other was that she was going to try and cultivate the side of Sylar that had apologized for hurting her during sex. She wasn't sure exactly how to do that, but she figured that humoring him would be a start.

Eventually, she would gain his trust. At that point, she would steal a shitload of those pills, feed them to him, and then tie him up and hand him to her dad. And boy, would Noah Bennet go medieval on Sylar's ass. The thought was so satisfying that it gave Claire a little tingle.

Sylar was watching TV and eating a room service pizza. He was wearing different clothes; a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans that made him look like any ordinary Joe relaxing in front of the news. For that matter, she looked very ordinary herself; just a nice-looking blonde girl in a purple dress, with nothing to indicate that she was a psycho's sex toy.

The news headline was all about the latest victim of a serial rapist in New Jersey who had murdered three young women so far. He was described as tall and dark. Claire's heart skipped a beat.

"Please tell me that isn't you," she said.

Sylar looked at her in surprise. "I'm a murderer, not a rapist!"

"Oh yeah?" challenged Claire, toweling her hair.

"I mean I was a serial killer, not a serial rapist," explained Sylar sheepishly. Sheepish Sylar was weird. "I killed people for a reason."

"And killing people because you want to open their brains is less bad than killing people because you want to fuck them," said Claire in a deadpan voice. She pulled her panties out of her purse and put them on. "You're forcing me to have sex with you, why wouldn't you do it to other girls?"

Sylar seemed taken aback. "Because… Look, I told you. I need… You're special because of your family and because I can't hurt you. Even when I do hurt you, you're only upset for a little while. I wouldn't go out and traumatize vulnerable girls I don't know just to get off." He paused and frowned, as if he was asking himself whether he would or not. "No, I wouldn't. I guess your ability is back, by the way."

Claire shrugged; she wondered if he expected her to be hobbling about in pain. She had to admit that the sex had hurt a hell of a lot more than expected, but not that badly. Still, it was a relief to be back to her normal self again.

Sylar asked her if she wanted to share his pizza, but she assured him that she didn't. For some reason, sharing food with him seemed gross, as if she might catch cooties; Claire was aware of the lack of logic there considering he had poured his bodily fluids into every orifice on her body.

Sylar stood up to open the door for her and handed Claire a handful of pills.

"You can give these a try in your own time," he said. "Like I said, a whole one will last about three hours, and you can take them as often as you like."

Utterly baffled by his gesture, Claire grabbed the pills before he could change his mind. Sylar threw back his head and laughed. In the harsh light from the lamp above them, long laugh lines appeared down his narrow face and Claire caught a glimpse of a man in his prime behind the familiar monster.

"Just so you don't get your hopes up too high," he said. "They don't work so well on me. I guess they pumped me so full of them when I was on Level 5 that I'm immune."

Claire wondered if that was a lie. On the other hand, he had escaped from the Company every single time they held him, so maybe it was true. She muttered a thanks and pocketed the pills anyway.

Claire didn't think about their encounter at all as she walked back to her car. The heightened sensations caused by the pill and the alcohol were gone, and she felt all right. But Claire knew that things sometimes sneaked up on her unexpectedly. She was sure that Sylar's reference to being her "first" would come back to make her cry at 3.00 am one night.

And then she'd get up in the morning and everything would be back to normal, except for one more trauma swept under the carpet. Maybe some day, everything would burst out and she would go crazy. But for now, she was like those cartoon characters that bounced back when they were flattened by a steamroller. Claire Bennet, the Indestructible Girl.

------

_Author's note (April 2010): this is as far as I've got so future updates will be much slower to come. But there are about 16 squares left to fill on the bingo card so there should be plenty more to look forward to if I can just keep going (see http://i874.)_


	4. Sleepy Unconscious

**4 - Sleepy/Unconscious**

_Bonus: bondage__, humiliation, come markings_

_.  
_

"Remind me again why we're stalking this guy?" whined Luke.

Sylar wiped the sweat off his forehead. He was half tempted to turn the engine on to get some cool air into the car, but that would be a waste of energy.

"He's a rapist and murderer who deserves retribution," he said coldly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The hot leather burned his fingertips. "And I've decided to use my powers to stop him. I'm not sure why _you're_ here, though."

Luke grinned at him flirtatiously. "Oh, I just followed that black undershirt. Dude, you look hot."

Given the heat wave currently gripping the Eastern Seaboard, the black wifebeater was a matter of practicality rather than aesthetics, but Sylar was gratified by Luke's praise. He wondered if Claire would find it attractive too.

"You know, when we're done here, maybe we can go back to the house and work on Claire's instructions," continued Luke. "I have some more cool ideas."

"We'll see."

Since the boy appeared to have some theoretical knowledge about kinky sex, Sylar had enlisted Luke's help to write out instructions for Claire's bonus and malus game. A co-ed like Claire would probably appreciate well-written guidelines. However, they hadn't gotten very far; neither Luke nor Sylar had much experience of writing instructions.

Their exchange was interrupted when Sylar's quarry appeared, coming back to his apartment block with a bag of groceries. Not bothering to warn Luke, Sylar flashed out of the car and into the lobby of the building, just in time to intercept his mark. The man took one look at Sylar's trademark scowl and turned to run, only to come face to face with Luke, who had worked out where Sylar had gone and come to help.

Sylar pinned the man to the wall and it felt like old times; the only thing missing was the distracting, overwhelming need to understand that had usually clouded Sylar's judgment during ability kills. As a reward for his participation -- not that Sylar needed help -- he allowed Luke to lightly microwave some non-essential internal organs. Their victim was in pain but would heal eventually, and no one would be able to see anything from the outside. When the man was sobbing at their feet, Sylar used Parkman's power to persuade him that he felt overwhelming guilt for the rapes and murders he had committed.

"_You will hand yourself in and confess to all your crimes_," said Sylar. "_If you ever get out of jail, you will never touch a woman again_."

"Yeah, or your dick will drop off," said Luke, who didn't understand how Parkman's power worked.

Sylar rolled his eyes and instructed the man to forget that. "Just remember, my name is Sylar and I will find you if you don't obey."

Thoroughly terrified and already feeling the effects of the mind control, the man promised to do everything Sylar said. Immensely satisfied, Sylar returned to the car with Luke. As he drove off, he saw the man heading down the road, looking distraught. Sylar remembered what overwhelming guilt felt like; that seemed like a suitable punishment for any criminal. Making the guy hand himself over to the authorities was just to give the victims' families closure. Sylar smiled; Claire would be very proud of him.

"That was cool," said Luke with a grin. "He was scared shitless. We should do that again."

"Maybe." Sylar didn't feel that Luke's contribution had been essential, but it was nice for once to have someone with him who appreciated how awesome he was.

"We could get costumes," continued Luke. "You know, like Lycra suits, or no, rubber! And yours should totally have nipples. Like Batman. Actually, dude, your chest hair looks--"

Sylar smacked the kid telekinetically but even Luke's idiocy wasn't enough to dampen his good mood. Things were finally getting better. Hunting criminals could be his new purpose; he would use his powers to stalk and frighten people without killing them, and in exchange, he would have a grateful Claire to play with. For the first time in months, Sylar felt happy.

* * * * * * * * * *

Claire walked into her father's apartment in a cheerful mood. The last couple of hours with Lauren had been great; just the kind of thing she needed to vent some of the frustration building up over her situation with Sylar.

Noah Bennet was ostensibly working on his laptop, though the flurry of clicking that accompanied the two women's return suggested that he had been looking at something private.

"So, ladies, how was your afternoon at the shooting range?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

"It went great. Claire is a natural," said Lauren, sitting at the table beside Noah. "And strongly motivated. I've promised to teach her some martial arts next. But you'll have to promise to reign in your killer instinct when we actually fight, Claire. Some of those targets were in shreds."

Claire beamed at her. "Sorry. I got carried away. I was imagining…" She decided not to tell them she had been thinking about Sylar. "I was working out some of my frustrations," she said finally.

Noah gave his girlfriend a significant look and Claire wondered if they wanted to discuss something private. Perhaps he had some revelation about the subject of his latest Wall of Weird at the back of the living-room. His determination not to involve Claire in his specials-related worked was irritating. She was tempted to stay just to annoy them, but that wouldn't fit the new Mature Claire image she had been nurturing since she started college. Besides, their latest quarry was small fry compared to the psycho she was dealing with.

"If you don't mind, I'll go get changed," she said diplomatically. "I'm going out with some friends tonight."

"Oh, will Gretchen be there?" asked Lauren.

Claire gave her an awkward smile. "She's in Texas. We, um, broke up. It's a long story."

Lauren looked politely sad, but Noah raised his eyebrows and seemed pleased. Not wanting to discuss the matter further, Claire turned towards the area that served as her "bedroom". Her father had hung drapes around the double bed in the corner of his open plan apartment to give her some privacy. He was sleeping on the new pullout in the living area. It wasn't a very satisfactory arrangement for either of them.

"Oh, Claire," Noah called after her. "Your Mom called. I think she left a message on your cell phone too. She said Doug has just booked them a surprise two-week trip to Barbados, so she won't be back in Costa Verde until mid-June."

Claire stopped, her hand on the drape by her bed. "Oh. But I was planning to get a flight next week. I mean I hadn't actually booked anything, but I figured…"

"That's what I told her," said Noah, shaking his head. "But you didn't give her an exact date, so when Doug proposed this trip, she said yes. You can still go, though, Lyle will be at home."

"Yeah, I'll think about it." Claire had never been particularly close to her kid brother. She frowned. "Is it just me, or is it kind of weird to organize a two-week trip when your girlfriend's daughter is coming?"

"Maybe Doug likes to have things his own way," said Noah.

"Or maybe he's a romantic who thinks Sandra needs a vacation?" suggested Lauren. She glanced at both Bennets and raised her hands. "Hey, just imagining some non-nefarious motives for a last minute trip to Barbados. I wouldn't complain."

Noah stared at her and blinked, clearly unsure how to respond to that. Claire caught Lauren's eye and grinned before leaving them to their grown-up concerns.

She got changed and thought about her mom's unexpected vacation. Claire had intended to spend a few weeks in Costa Verde enjoying the illusion of being Mommy's little girl again before starting her summer job in D.C.. Sandra's vacation now meant that her stay in California wouldn't last more than a couple of weeks. Claire had also discussed sharing an apartment with Gretchen over the rest of the summer, but she presumed that wouldn't happen either. All her plans were falling apart.

Perhaps it was for the best; she couldn't imagine continuing her forced relationship with Sylar while living with her Mom or Gretchen. She would soon cave in and tell them the truth. She felt less guilty hiding things from her father after everything he had done. In any case, Claire was tired of Noah Bennet seeing her as a damsel in distress.

Claire dismissed that train of thought when Lauren and Noah's conversation took an interesting turn. The drapes concealed her from view but did nothing to block sound, and though they were talking quietly, she could hear every word.

"Something strange happened today," said Noah in a low voice. "That serial rapist in New Jersey who was on the news a few days ago turned himself in to the police. He said someone called Sylar told him to do it. A local news website reported it tonight."

"Wow. Sylar," said Lauren. "There's a name I haven't heard in a long time. You think it's the same one? I thought he was dead."

"No, he was just flying under the radar; probably biding his time waiting to get revenge for what we did to him," said Noah. "There hasn't been a single homicide featuring his M.O. since we shut down Building 26 last year but he's definitely alive. The last person who saw him was Molly Walker; you remember the Walker system?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, she came back to the U.S. for a funeral about a month ago," continued Noah. "Sylar went to see her. He apologized for murdering her parents, talked to her a while and left. She's adamant it was him."

"He apologized?" repeated Lauren with clear amazement. "And you think now he's telling criminals to turn themselves in?"

"It does seem strange," said Noah. "It could be someone else, but it isn't a common name and the news site reported that the man had a 'vision of a powerful being' called Sylar. Odds are good that it's our man."

"Maybe he's had a change of heart?" said Lauren, though Claire could tell she didn't believe that. "Or something has happened to him."

"Yes, I think something has happened to him. It isn't the first time Sylar has laid low or wanted to play the hero, but not killing is something new. I have a theory about that. Just after Thanksgiving last year, Peter used René's ability on Sylar. He wanted to remove everything that made Sylar who he is. When Sylar shifted into Nathan, Peter stopped and he doesn't know how much damage he did before he let Sylar go."

"You think Peter Petrelli removed that 'hunger' Sylar had? The thing that made him want to murder people for their abilities?" asked Lauren.

"It's possible. Either way, if René's power is the source of Sylar's change of behavior, I'm not sure how long it'll last. Experience has shown that mind control doesn't usually stick with regenerative powers. Sylar is a case in point." Claire heard her father sigh. "René and I have tried to track him down. We even enlisted Molly's help but her information was unreliable. Something to do with the onset of puberty," he added wryly. "I wish Peter had kept hold of him when he had him at his mercy."

"Well, I don't know Peter Petrelli, but I guess he loved his brother very much. It must have freaked him out to see Sylar change into him. Did he really staple Sylar to a board?" asked Lauren with amusement. "That sounds kinky."

"I think it was a nailgun and I'm sure Sylar enjoyed every minute of it," said Noah with disgust. "He had… unusual reactions to some of the procedures at Primatech. But we found his limits eventually. I wasn't going to let that sick bastard get his rocks off after what he did at Claire's Homecoming." Noah groaned. "God, my orders were to revive him every time he died. I wish I'd let the son of a bitch go cold. If I'd known what he would do to Claire..."

"You were under orders," said Lauren reassuringly. "Orders were orders and I'm sure Sylar was a fascinating test subject for the lab coats. Besides, you're not the only one who let him live. They could have killed him instead of using him as a guinea-pig for the Shanti virus. Or just kept him on Level 5 instead of whatever the hell the Petrellis thought they were doing messing with his emotions like that."

"Yeah." Noah sounded pissed off. "More to the point, they could have ordered me to bring Gabriel Gray in while he was still a guilt-stricken watchmaker who wished he'd never heard of 'evolved humans'. He would have followed Elle anywhere after she stopped him committing suicide."

Claire stared at the geometric pattern on the drape, trying to wrap her mind around all this new information. Sylar was free to rape her now because the Company had repeatedly let him go.

"It sounds to me like someone wanted Sylar free and killing all along," said Lauren. "It wouldn't surprise me coming from the people who wanted to blow up half New York. But that's over now. We should get Sylar while he's vulnerable, before whatever is affecting him wears off. You said he seemed to have an interest in Claire at one time. Maybe she can help us capture him."

The irony of that thought made Claire smile. Fortunately, her father remained true to form.

"No," said Noah firmly. "I am not using my daughter as bait. We don't have the resources to go after Sylar anyway while Johnson is on a crime spree across the United States."

"So Sylar is just going to get away with it?"

"Nothing will bring back the people he has killed," said Noah. "Claire has recovered from his attack and I don't want to reopen old wounds when Sylar isn't an immediate threat. Believe me, I want nothing more than to see the bastard pulverized with my own eyes, but we need to prioritize our work."

Claire tuned out Noah's attempt to change the subject and thought about what they had said. Lauren was right; Claire needed to make sure Sylar didn't get away with it. She had dealt with Brody while she was just a high school cheerleader. There had to be a way to deal with Sylar.

* * * * * * * * * *

The girls were laughing, the sound reaching Sylar even in his hiding place behind the tree. He had changed into a small woman, a random girl whose hand he had brushed against in a shopping mall the week before; less noticeable than his usual six-foot form and far less likely to cause trouble if Noah Bennet appeared unexpectedly. Not that Sylar was afraid of Bennet; but he was enjoying his games with Claire and her father's involvement would ruin everything. He hoped she wasn't confiding in Bennet behind his back.

Sylar moved to a different observation point as Claire finally said good night to her friends -- Deepthroat and two he didn't know. A few weeks ago, this would have been the point when Sylar made his presence felt, just lurking close enough for Claire to feel his eyes on her before he disappeared back into the night. But things were different now.

Claire had reached her car; it was parked in a residential street and there were a few people around, which made the next stage tricky. Still disguised as the anonymous woman, Sylar approached Claire as she put her purse in the back of the car. The syringe slid easily through the skimpy white blouse she was wearing and Claire went limp. A quick look around and a probe with Parkman's power suggested that no one was paying any attention to them, so Sylar pushed Claire's unconscious body onto the floor in the back of her car. He shifted into Claire, complete with nurse-style white blouse and ridiculously short shorts, and drove off.

"I should really change into you more often," said Sylar out loud as he cruised back towards D.C.. He slid a slender hand into his shirt and twisted one of his nipples. "Hmm. It's a shame you can't feel pain without losing your healing ability. You have a delightfully sensitive body."

His once hyperactive need to understand stirred sluggishly at the mystery of Claire's painlessness. Like her perpetual virginity, it was a problem that annoyed him; he felt he should be able to fix these things, but the solution eluded him.

Sylar wasn't an expert on drugs but he estimated that the stuff he had given Claire would last at least an hour. More than enough time to get back to the apartment he had rented close to her father's lodgings. They hadn't discussed her summer arrangements, but Sylar knew Claire would be working as an intern at the firm that employed Bennet. He had decided to gamble that wherever she lived, she would stay within close proximity of Dupont Circle.

He had originally considered using hotels, motels and other random locations for their trysts, but the hotel on Sunday had reminded him how much he hated them. Sylar had spent most of the last couple of years in motels, squashing cockroaches and learning to focus on the next move, the next prey, anything rather than the bleakness of his lonely life. It was worse now, when every pillowcase and door handle could reveal the lives of all the sad, pathetic little beings who had inhabited the room.

The apartment had been a lucky fluke. Money was no object, even though pure gold -- untainted by the alloys normally used in jewelry manufacturing -- was not quite as easy to sell discreetly as it might have seemed to casual observers. Following the habit of a lifetime, Sylar lived a frugal existence, buying few things beyond food and clothes, and he always liked to keep plenty of cash to hand. The loft's owner needed to let it quickly and Sylar was more than happy to step in with ready cash.

"You'll like it," said Sylar, addressing the limp form on the floor behind him. "It's very modern. Some day, I might take you to my safe house in… well, the middle of nowhere. Maybe have a vacation there. We'll see. I guess I need to find out if you're the kind of girl who'll break the spines on all my books or mess up my…"

Sylar was about to mention the clockwork pieces, but he decided he wasn't ready to reveal that part of his life, even to an unconscious Claire. He didn't know how much she knew about him; it was probably best to keep an aura of mystery.

Following Chandra Suresh's murder, Sylar had decided to turn his back on his past, discarding all the books and timepieces that had once filled his life. He had become a loner instead, drifting across the country in pursuit of abilities, taking little with him on each trip. But now that his brainwashing seemed to have robbed him of his original purpose, the safe house -- effectively his real home -- had begun to fill once more with clocks and books. No, it was probably best if he didn't take Claire there quite yet.

Sylar parked Claire's car near his block and shifted back into himself. He manipulated her limp body using the creepy puppet power he had caught off the fat guy he gave to Danko. Claire almost seemed conscious as her legs carried her towards the elevator.

Once inside the loft, he dumped Claire on the bed. There was no other furniture in the apartment as the owner had sold or removed everything else. The bed was left behind because it was a bespoke four-poster built into the surrounding closets and side tables. Its sturdy wooden frame, immediately visible from the front door, had caught Sylar's eye on the realtor's website and was the main reason, aside from the location, he'd paid so much to secure the place.

A few well-placed hooks and he'd have a variety of possibilities for tying Claire up. Their timid forays into bondage so far had given Sylar a taste for seeing her incapacitated and Google had been ever helpful in providing inspiration as to how the bed frame might be used.

"Tonight is all about revisiting your abduction," said Sylar, though Claire was still showing no sign of consciousness. "I'll be honest. The way we did it last time was disappointing. I liked the fact that you came without a fight and I hope that means we can work together on this. But I'll admit that just grabbing you like this would have been a far more thrilling way to introduce you to my plans."

Sylar unfastened Claire's ridiculously short shorts and pulled them off. A quick wave of his hand and all the buttons on her shirt came undone at once. Even after all this time, Sylar was very proud of what he could do with telekinesis. He wished Claire had seen him cleaning the champagne off the bathroom floor at the hotel, lifting all the liquid as one mass and dropping it into the shower cubicle to flow down the drain. Oh well, he'd show her that trick some other day.

"I think I deserve a little game after dealing with that rapist we discussed the other day," he said. "I don't know if you've heard about that. You can thank me later, when you wake up naked and tied to this wonderful bed they've left me." Sylar put his hand on the bedpost. "Yes, I do believe they used it for the same purpose we will."

A well-placed aim with his finger and her white panties and padded bra dissolved into dust. Claire already understood that she was not to use underwear when they had a rendezvous, but he might tell her to forgo it completely. The idea of forcing Claire to live without underwear twenty-four-seven, even while she shared an apartment with Noah Bennet, made Sylar's half-hard erection twitch.

"Yes, I think that would keep me on your mind," he said with a chuckle. "Because I can tell from watching you, Claire, that you don't give much thought to me when I'm not there. I know I said you could have your life back, but I guess I'd like to feel that what we're doing affects you just a little bit more than it does."

Their last session had been improvised in many ways, from going straight to the hotel to the unexpected arrival of the champagne. But Sylar had prepared more carefully this time. He had an abacus to count her points and had spent a couple of days thinking of a new way to restrain her. After doing some research, he had dismissed metal cuffs and chains for now; they appealed in theory, but his nighttime fantasy of chaining Claire to the bed was spoiled when his subconscious mind suddenly replaced her with Elle chained to the darkened room at Pinehearst. He wasn't ready to deal with that memory yet.

Instead, Sylar acquired some mountaineering rope and used the veritable cornucopia of information on the Internet to find out the best way to use it. Knots were a fascinating topic all their own; Sylar had practiced a few different knots -- one had fastened so tightly around his own ankle that he had been obliged to cut it off -- and had studied the rope and the bed before deciding exactly how he was going to tie Claire down. The planning and fantasizing had been fun. In a way, Sylar was afraid that having Claire actually tied to the bed was going to be a bit of an anticlimax.

Still, she did look very desirable, her unconscious body lying where he had dumped her on the red bedspread. Sylar had already secured ropes to the head and foot of the frame, but he took a moment to admire Claire. Her amazing tanned skin appeared to glow in the flattering lighting installed above the bed. Her little diamond earrings sparkled through her loose hair. Sylar once again pondered the mystery of her tan and bikini lines. Maybe her ability had kicked in too late to fix the result of her childhood in the sun, or perhaps melamine production didn't count as damage for the purposes of regeneration.

Sylar had always hated sunbathing, even on the rare occasions when he had dragged himself to Coney Island as a youth, lured by the promise of bared flesh on girls who wouldn't look at him twice with his glasses and ill-concealed erection. But if Claire's tan needed topping up, he might consider accompanying her to a beach or a pool some day. Or she could lie out completely naked in the yard at his safe house; he wondered if her nipples would tan too. He gave each one a little kiss, imagining them brown instead of pink.

"I guess it's time to tie you up," he said. "I wouldn't like you to wake up before I'm ready."

Sylar glanced at his watch; Claire had already been unconscious longer than expected so he needed to get on with it. He spun the rope secured to one side of the headboard around Claire's wrists, binding them together with a simple knot. The position pulled her breasts up and hollowed her stomach as her back arched slightly.

He parted her legs. The dust from her destroyed panties fell off onto the bedspread and Sylar leaned back to admire her exposed flesh. Dicks were all very well, but he had to admit there was something fascinating about a woman's pussy. Claire's soft folds were cool and dry when Sylar stroked them, her labia limp and stuck together. He played with her for a moment, brushing back the unkempt mousy brown hairs and spreading her folds. He laughed as he removed a tiny shred of toilet tissue.

"Now there's something you never see in Internet photos."

He cut off the offending evidence of Claire's humanity along with some of the hairs it clung to before stroking the trimmed patch. Since Claire was unconscious, there was no need to do anything more than satisfy his own curiosity, reading her flesh with his abilities, enjoying the echoes of Claire's limited sexual activities tingling through his fingertips. Plenty of Gretchen, of course: licking and fingering but always too gentle for Claire's numb body. Some teenage boy who had touched her while she was asleep or unconscious a long time ago. And the first man she had spread her legs for… that one was a surprise.

"So, little Claire Bennet does have Daddy issues," he chuckled as the vision of a middle-aged man fucking Claire on a couch became clearer in his mind. "I knew you'd had someone before me, but I imagined some frat boy. You'll have to tell me all about him some day."

Still amused by the revelation, Sylar kneeled between her legs and toyed with the little clump of hair that covered her clitoris. He snipped it off with a thought. It left the front of her sex erotically exposed without reducing her to the infantile baldness that porn stars espoused. Pleased with the effect, Sylar trimmed the rest of her hairs and shaved their outline into a neat, even shape, licking off the blood that dotted her skin as he cut too close. The short hair revealed a sweet little mole just above her slit and Sylar gave it a reverent kiss.

Although Claire didn't react to his touch, Sylar continued to taste her, enjoying the unrestricted access that her trimmed hairs allowed. He probably looked stupid, kneeling on the bed with his ass in the air and his face between Claire's legs; but there was no one to see him and he liked doing this. Something about the taste, the texture, the smell, the sight of the object of his desire right on top of his nose, the idea that he was her servant for once… Sylar decided not to examine the reasons any further.

He made no attempt to bring Claire to orgasm; he wasn't even sure she could climax without being conscious and it seemed pointless to do it when she couldn't appreciate it. Sylar straightened up and stroked Claire's spread thighs instead, admiring her flat stomach and small breasts. Even with her arms up above her head, her breasts were flattened almost to non existence, save for their erect nipples. Sylar kissed and sucked each one in turn again, indulging his oral sensitivity for a moment longer before lying on top of Claire.

She was breathing evenly, her pretty face calm in repose. Claire had a wide face, so unlike his own narrow features. They were physical opposites in many ways; Claire short and wide where Sylar was long and thin, fair where he was dark. Observing her as he unfastened his pants, Sylar wondered what their children would look like if they ever had any. Would they be a combination of both Sylar and Claire, blessed with faces that were a perfect, average width, or would each subsequent offspring alternate between wide and narrow features?

Indulging this unexpected fantasy, Sylar pictured Claire pregnant, her belly a perfect round ball above her shapely legs, her little breasts swollen with milk. The image aroused him more than expected. All he needed to do was lower the shapeshifted barriers in his vas deferens and she might even get pregnant right now. He imagined himself presenting a heavily pregnant Claire to the Bennets and Petrellis; sweet revenge indeed.

On the other hand, Sylar had given himself a vasectomy from the start because he intended to spend a few months -- maybe even years -- having fun with Claire's lovely body. Worrying about an unborn infant would hamper some of his wilder fantasies and he balked at bringing a child into the world for something as base as revenge. In any case, the last thing he wanted was to contribute to the continuation of the Petrelli gene pool. He chuckled nonetheless at the idea of impregnating Claire without her knowledge or consent.

Sylar called the ropes at the foot of the bed up to tie her ankles, spreading her legs wide enough to allow him access. Claire was now tied to both ends of the bed, her arms bound together and her legs spread open, wearing only her unfastened white shirt. The one item of normal clothing seemed to enhance her nudity. Sylar pushed her thighs up slightly and pulled down his pants to penetrate her.

Her unlubricated virgin vagina offered more resistance than usual; too much of this and it was going to hurt _him_. Sylar pulled away and called a tube of lubricant from the beside table; it was the brand Luke used, and although Virginia's religious upbringing had left him unsure about buying anything sex-related, Sylar had decided to leave nothing to chance from now on.

A couple of hard thrusts got him inside and slow friction eventually made Claire's body produce some lubrication to ease the intercourse. Sylar moved slowly, enjoying the sensation of being able to do this without any conversation, without worrying about what Claire thought of him, or looking into her hate-filled eyes.

She really was beautiful, he thought as he thrust slowly into her; beautiful and amazingly resilient. Sylar suspected that most women would be traumatized by what he was doing to Claire; not just the non-consensual sex, but his drive to humiliate and degrade her. He was lucky that he had found someone who could stand it. It meant that he could give in to each extreme fantasy, safe in the knowledge that the same lively Claire would be ready to fulfill his next desire. He smiled as he thought of Claire's nearly joyful compliance while drunk. With any luck, she would get used to the game and eventually enjoy playing it when she was sober.

Sylar sat back on his knees, pulling Claire's hips onto his lap so he could watch himself screwing her. He felt his excitement increase at the sight of his own erection sliding back and forth, Claire's pink sex seeming to suck it in like a mouth with each stroke. Sylar debated whether to hold back his orgasm, but it wasn't as if he needed to impress Claire with his stamina. In any case, frequent masturbation and the occasional sideline experiment with Luke had improved Sylar's ability to recover rapidly; he could always have another go if she woke up. So he let go and groaned with abandon as the pleasure coursed through him and his seed pumped into her.

Laughing a little at the intensity of his orgasm, Sylar slid out from under Claire, not caring about the fluids that gushed onto the bedspread. He lay back between her legs, his head level with her feet. Her toenails were painted but the red polish was sloppily applied and cracked in places. Sylar wondered idly if she would let him paint her nails. It felt like the kind of thing he would be good at.

Dismissing that thought, Sylar wiped the fluids off his penis -- he really felt he should be able to fix her virginity some day -- and fastened his pants. He crawled over Claire's leg to get himself a drink in the kitchen area. Leaning against the refrigerator, Sylar looked around and tried to decide whether he liked the open plan layout of the apartment. There were no doors anywhere, even on the bathroom, which was the only room with walls around it. Sylar had spent most of his adult life in an apartment where his single bed was visible from the living room and he remembered being faintly embarrassed when Elle first visited.

But that was when he was an idiot who blushed at the idea of laying the stupid bitch out on his lonely twin bed. Now that he was Claire's master, he didn't need to worry about such niceties. Claire would probably be his only visitor and her only reason to come visit him was to fuck. Open plan would present a considerable advantage with Claire naked all the time.

Sylar yawned and returned to the bed. He leaned down and lifted one of Claire's eyelids; she was still out cold. He looked down at Claire in her awkward bound position, her sex still rosy and open from the penetration, and on an impulse, he called his cell phone to him and took a couple of photos. Sylar played them back and laughed.

"Oh, these are very nice. I should send one to your Daddy. Or maybe Grandma."

He sent one to Claire's phone; a little reminder of what she had missed. Sylar stretched out beside Claire and yawned again. It had been a long day and it was way past midnight now. He dipped his finger in between her legs and traced idle patterns on her smooth skin, leaving pale shiny lines that reminded him of the champagne. Claire remained unresponsive.

"I think I overestimated how much sedative you'd need," said Sylar. "I guess your late night out with the girls must have tired you out. Watching you chatter all evening sure as hell tired me out."

He turned off all the lights except one in the kitchen. The darkness made Sylar feel drowsy but he didn't want to fall asleep with Claire still tied to the bed. She wouldn't be in awe of his might if she woke up and found him snoring beside her. Since she refused to wake up, perhaps he would be better off dumping her in her car and summoning her for a new session in the morning.

Sylar smiled as this new scenario took shape. He wondered how Claire would feel if she woke up not knowing anything of what had happened. She would soon realize that she had been violated without her knowledge. It would send home the message that she really was Sylar's plaything, his to do with as he pleased. The thought sent a rush of renewed arousal to his groin. Smiling at the convenience of the situation, Sylar rolled on top of her again and pushed in with no trouble.

Keeping his eyes on her lovely face, Sylar took his time, enjoying the sensation of her tight sex lubricated with his seed. Claire Bennet, this pretty young woman who would never have been close to Gabriel's reach, was Sylar's plaything. His sex slave. He wished she would wake up so he could see her green eyes narrowing as she reluctantly began to feel pleasure. She always tried to hide it; watching her struggle as he forced her to enjoy her plight was half the fun of this situation. Sylar remembered making her come while he took her virginity; he groaned and speeded up the pace until he was spent.

He collapsed on her and closed his eyes. It was a few minutes before he snored himself awake. Very pleased that Claire hadn't awoken to find him snoring on top of her, Sylar rearranged his clothing and stood up. It occurred to him now that the fun part of screwing Claire Bennet was to actually have Claire Bennet with him, her feisty determination to fight him and her own sexual feelings intact. Having her like this was entertaining, but he imagined that he would get almost as much satisfaction with a doll.

"Well, Claire, even when you're unconscious, you still manage to make me change my plans. It seems to be a pattern." The only time one of his schemes involving Claire had gone exactly to plan was the time he took her power. "Still, only fools don't change their minds and since I'll have you tomorrow anyway…"

Sylar flicked Claire's restraints off, redid a couple of buttons on her shirt and stuffed her pretty little legs and hips back into the tight shorts. As a precaution, he administered one half of the second syringe and drove Claire back to her father's apartment. He laid her out on the back seat of her car, smiling wickedly at the thought of Claire waking up with no recollection at all of how she came to be there, and then having to sneak past her father, half dressed and reeking of sex.

"_If anyone asks, you are having a kinky, consensual affair with an older man_," he said, concentrating on Claire's mind. "_And enjoying every minute of it. You won't tell anyone that I'm forcing you to do this_ ."

He realized that resorting to actual mind control was a sign of insecurity. It wasn't that he didn't trust his ability to control her through fear alone, but the idea of Claire being so close to her father now made him… nervous. Since his own brainwashing had lasted several months, Sylar thought using Parkman's power on Claire would keep their relationship private for a while. He would choose the best time and manner to tell the world about their relationship.

Immensely satisfied with the evening's activities, he closed Claire's car and flew back to his new apartment.

* * * * * * * * * *

Claire opened her eyes and looked around, momentarily disoriented at the unfamiliar surroundings. It took her a moment to realize that she was in the back seat of her own car. She felt groggy as she sat up, and recognized the feeling; she had been drugged. But by whom? The last thing she remembered was saying goodnight to her friends in Arlington. Looking out, she recognized her father's street and realized it was close to dawn. Whoever her attacker was, they'd done a thorough job of sedating her.

Leaning over to pick up her bag, Claire felt a gush of fluid escaping her vagina and smelled the now too familiar odor of male ejaculate. The sensation made her stomach churn; someone had raped her while she was unconscious. Trying not to dwell on that disturbing thought, Claire buttoned up her shirt and headed for her father's apartment. She discovered that she was wearing no bra and no panties, and there was something strange about her pubic area, which felt unusually itchy. The removal of her underwear seemed to fit in with Sylar's obsession with keeping her naked under her clothes, and she felt a little reassured.

_Oh god, please let it be Sylar_. The odor lingering on her skin smelled like his, but she didn't know whether all men smelled the same. She really hoped it was Sylar. Claire could just about tolerate being one man's victim, especially given that the one man was the most powerful person on earth; but the idea that there might be someone else out there prepared to degrade her to this extent was unbearable.

Her father was snoring on the couch when Claire let herself into his apartment, but he woke up and they exchanged a few awkward words about her night out with the girls. Claire thought she should swallow her pride and tell him the whole truth; her father always knew what to do in difficult situations. But she realized that she didn't want to tell anyone what Sylar was doing to her.

She resisted the strange temptation to tell her father that she was in a consensual relationship with an older man. Fortunately, Noah didn't press her for further information on her evening, so Claire excused herself hastily and ran into the bathroom, desperately hoping that her father hadn't smelled the lingering scent of sex.

She stared at her neatly trimmed pubic hair in the mirror when she stripped off her soiled shorts; it made her private parts look obscene, the normally concealed inner lips just peeking out past her practically hairless outer folds. There were smears of something on her breasts and stomach. She didn't even want to think about what the substance might be. The extent of Sylar's violation made her feel sick.

It wasn't fair. Sylar had stopped killing; he was apologizing to his other victims, bringing criminals to justice, and possibly even feeling guilt for some of his crimes. But in spite of this, he was perfectly happy to continue raping Claire with no concern for her feelings.

"The universe can't be this lame!" she exclaimed in a loud whisper. "He can't get away with this."


	5. Obedience

**Part 5 - Obedience**

_Bonus kinks:_ Japanese rope bondage, submission, obedience, master/slave play, oral sex, whipping, consent dubiously obtained

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The address was a former warehouse converted into luxury apartments. Sylar had given her the access code for the main entrance so Claire made her way up to the top floor and found the door to #8. She discreetly pulled her panties off under her dress and put them in her bag. She scratched her mound through her dress; the short trimmed pubic hair felt like bristles and the reminder of her humiliation made bile rise to her mouth.

So far in their "relationship", Claire had done a good job forgetting about Sylar when she was away from him; compartmentalizing had become a specialty of hers over the past few years. But that had changed after last night. Claire hadn't slept after crawling into her father's borrowed bed at dawn. She had spent most of the morning formulating plans for her revenge, frustrated by her complete powerlessness and humiliated by the extent of Sylar's violation.

He hadn't just raped her while she was unconscious; he had cut her pubic hair and smeared his come on her breasts and belly, then dumped her half-dressed on her father's doorstep. The picture message he had sent her the previous night said 'Her master's slave'; Claire got the message. Sylar was perhaps unable to kill, but he was still a dangerous man.

"Don't think about that," Claire told herself. "I am strong. I can do this."

She pulled her phone out of her bag to check the time. Sylar had instructed her to walk the five blocks to his apartment, so she had given herself plenty of time and was nearly twenty minutes early. Maybe she should go for a walk and come back. No, that would just delay the inevitable.

Claire wiped the sweat off her face, redid her ponytail and rang the doorbell. A couple of minutes passed before Sylar opened the door. Claire could tell that he wasn't ready; although he was dressed in a wifebeater and sweatpants, Sylar's short hair was wet and mussed, and his feet were bare. Had he been anyone else on any other day, Claire might have found the look of unguarded surprise on his even features rather sweet.

But remembering what he had done to her the previous night, Claire lowered her eyes and steeled herself for a difficult encounter. The rage was building up again and she knew that she would punch him if she looked up.

"You're early," he said.

"Sorry."

Claire wondered if she was supposed to call him 'Master' as she had done when they played with the champagne. Except for the pain when he took her virginity, that had been kind of fun. Maybe playing along would make today like that.

"Stay there," said Sylar abruptly.

He closed the door in her face. Asshole. Claire resisted the temptation to bang on the door or turn tail and leave. Instead, she took a deep breath and stood by the door until he came back.

When he returned after several minutes, Sylar stepped aside to let Claire in and kissed her gently on the lips. Then he ruined it by squeezing her breast. The unexpected touch made Claire jump, her heart racing.

"I'm nearly done," said Sylar. "Get ready and wait for me in that corner."

He indicated a kind of alcove where the elevator shaft outside cut into the surface of the condo. There was nothing there except a couple of sturdy looking hooks that had been recently installed; Claire could still see a little pile of dust on the floor.

Sylar disappeared into the bathroom, a separate room built in the middle of the left wall. There didn't seem to be any door, but Claire wasn't interested in Sylar's bathroom habits anyway; she went into her allotted corner and stripped rapidly. She fastened her restraints, chaining her hands behind her back as he had instructed the previous weekend, and kneeled down on the bare wooden floor, thighs parted, waiting for Sylar to return. Her master's slave, ha.

With nothing else to do, Claire looked around. The converted loft was essentially an open plan rectangle. Aside from the bathroom block, the only divisions in the space were a long breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the rest of the room and a raised area housing the built-in four poster bed and closets. Thick concrete pillars dotted the living area, supporting the high ceiling. The only free-standing furniture was an old easy chair with wooden arms; Sylar had clearly only just moved in.

In the absence of any table, he was using the breakfast bar opposite her as a desk; Claire could see a couple of map books, a laptop and a wooden abacus. She guessed from the smell that Sylar had been baking cookies; the concept was incongruous given the circumstances.

The toilet flushed and Sylar came out shortly afterwards. Claire hoped that he had washed his hands and his dick. She wondered if he would let her shower too; she felt hot and sticky after her walk in the muggy air outside.

"Wow. You look incredibly hot like that," said Sylar with admiration. The abacus on the breakfast bar clicked as three beads on the top row moved to the left side.

Claire kept her eyes lowered as Sylar stopped in front of her, his bare feet a couple of inches from her knees. He flicked his fingers and she shot back a foot, her arms rising straight behind her until the chain was looped over one of the hooks. The position put awkward pressure on her shoulders. Biting back several expletives, Claire forced herself to focus on the hand that had placed her there. The long dark hairs on Sylar's arms stopped shortly above the wrist, leaving his hands looking strangely bare. His fingernails were bitten short.

"Why are you angry, Claire?" he asked. "Is it about last night? Because if so, I don't see why; you agreed to have sex with me."

Claire wondered if she could aim well enough to head butt him in the balls from where she was kneeling; not that it would achieve anything given her situation. Fortunately, he wasn't reading her mind.

"Yes, but I thought you'd do it while I was conscious," said Claire. She forced herself to speak calmly though she was raging inside. "Waking up like that… all covered in-- with no idea what had happened… And then having to talk to my Dad while I was still dirty. It was awful."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," said Sylar thoughtfully. He shrugged. "You didn't wake up and I figured you needed to sleep, so I took you home. I'll make sure you have time to clean up in future if that bothers you."

"Thanks. Just… could you do make sure I'm awake before you do stuff to me?" asked Claire, keeping her tone respectful. "I mean, I'm cooperating, right?"

Sylar looked puzzled, but nodded. "Okay, if it bothers you that much. I won't have sex with you while you're sedated," he said as if he was doing her a big favor. "It wasn't that great anyway."

"Thanks." The concession made Claire feel better; she gave him a polite smile and switched to another topic that made her genuinely pleased. "And thanks for dealing with that rapist yesterday. They say he might never get out."

"That's actually why I took you last night," said Sylar enthusiastically. "I wanted to celebrate by trying out a new fantasy. You know, Claire, I think you're right." He started to pace. "Now that I'm the most powerful man on Earth, I should put my powers to good use. Last year, I wanted to become president so I could make a difference, but fighting crime on an individual basis is even better. You tell me who the problem is and I'll fix it for you."

Claire smiled at the thought of everything Sylar could achieve under her direction. "With all the powers you have, you can do anything you want," she said. "You can save people, bring criminals to justice, solve crimes..."

"Yes," said Sylar with delight. "That's it. And all you have to do is be grateful. It's a win-win situation."

Claire wasn't entirely sure that it was worth the degradation he was putting her through, but she could cooperate with Sylar's sick games if mankind was going to benefit. It wasn't as if fighting him would produce better results.

"We'll choose our next victim later. But first, let's get back to the fun," said Sylar, now pacing with an undeniable jaunt in his step. "Let's see how much you remember about the rules of our game. Kneel up." Unsure about this command, Claire risked a puzzled look at him. "Stay kneeling, but lift your ass," he explained.

She did as instructed, lifting her hips until her thighs and body were in a straight line. The tension in her shoulders eased a little. Sylar nudged her knee with his foot, making her legs spread wider. The position opened her pussy and Claire remembered the gross photograph on her phone; her lying unconscious on a bed with her legs tied open, her puffy red sex spread wide and glistening with blood and come. She clenched her teeth and stared resolutely ahead, telling herself that she was doing this for the sake of humanity.

Sylar reached down to play with one of her nipples, gently rolling it between his fingers and teasing the tip. Claire tried to ignore the shot of pleasure that coursed through her. He had to be using a power; it was the only logical explanation.

"Now tell me the rules of the game," he ordered.

"I, um…" Claire closed her eyes, embarrassed at having to put his gross rules into words. "I'm your sex slave. I have to obey you and do stuff you like. If I'm good, I get bonus points. If I disobey or do something you don't like, I get malus points. If I get three malus points, you punish me?"

"Yes." Sylar held out his hand; she stared at the object he called over with horror. "If you get three malus points today, I will punish you with this. A little pill and this could really hurt. Now stay still."

Claire shuddered as he slid the riding crop downwards and stroked her with the soft leather tip. She stared at the far wall, controlling her reactions as little pangs of pleasure started to build up between her legs. She knew she was getting wet and hoped it wasn't possible for her to actually start dripping. It was hard to stay still.

"Five strikes per malus point," said Sylar, still teasing her nipple at the same time. "I'll decide when you actually get punished. What are the rules for your bonus points?"

Claire swallowed. "I have to be naked under my clothes. I have to get undressed when you say so. I, um, I have to kneel and be tied up. And keep my legs open. And obey you and let you do anything you like to me. And I get extra points if I do something you like without you asking for it."

"Yes," breathed Sylar. She wasn't surprised to see a hard bulge in his sweatpants. "You're a quick learner, well done. If you get ten points, you can ask me for something related to the game." He pushed the riding crop further between her legs. "Hmm, you're getting wet. Do you like being my slave, Claire?"

The crassness of the question added to the unfair rules of the game made Claire's anger flare up again, but she bit back a retort to give the reply she thought he wanted. "Yes… master, I like being your slave?"

The abacus clicked and Claire jumped in surprise as he smacked her sex hard with the crop. In the absence of pain, her body interpreted the touch as pleasure and her erogenous zones tingled with excitement. She looked up at Sylar in surprise.

"Never lie to me, Claire," he said with an ominous scowl. "I don't like being played."

She blinked. "Shit, Sylar, I thought you wanted me to play along!"

Sylar glared and smacked her with the riding crop again. Despite her arms tied horizontally behind her, Claire sat back on her heels to put some distance between her sex and the riding crop. The abacus clicked; she guessed that he was less angry about the actual lie than the fact that she genuinely didn't enjoy being treated like a slave.

"Kneel up!" Sylar smacked her thigh with the crop. The blow was hard enough to leave a red mark that faded immediately. "You don't lie, you don't swear. And I told you to stay still!"

"I thought you were only going to punish me if I got three points!" she exclaimed.

"Now you do have three points," growled Sylar. The abacus clicked again. "But I'll punish you later. There's a game I want to play first and I will be very angry if you spoil this for me. Stand up and lift your arms."

He released her hands and Claire got to her feet, struggling not to trip over her chained ankles. She was seething, her earlier mood of cooperation obliterated by the injustice of Sylar's punishment. How could she play the game if it was rigged?

Standing with her hands on her head, her face still only reached Sylar's hairy chest. He put the riding crop down and called a coil of rope into his hands. Claire recognized it as the red rope she had seen on the picture; the one he had used to tie her while she was unconscious. She wondered if he would keep his promise only to have sex with her while she was awake in future.

Sylar looped it once around her neck and tied a series of evenly spaced knots down her front, starting just below her collar bone and ending at her crotch. He moved to Claire's back and pulled the rope loosely between her legs, several inches below her sex. It felt as though he was tying more knots at the back before he fastened the rope to the loop around her neck.

"This is _shibari_. Japanese rope bondage," explained Sylar as he worked. "The pattern I'm using is called _karada_. It'll be like a net around your body. A kind of rope dress. It looked really sexy on the Internet. Hmm. That's not right." Sylar undid something and tried again. "That's better. I should get myself a tailor's dummy so I can practice."

Claire thought he should just get himself a blowup doll for all the participation he demanded of her. He came back to her front, drawing one end of the rope under her arm and through the gap between the two topmost knots. He twisted the rope over and under itself before pulling it tight. When he repeated the same procedure with the other end of the rope, Claire looked down and could just make out the red rope stretched into a diamond shape on her upper chest. Weirdo.

Sylar continued to work, his dark features entirely focused on the task of wrapping the rope around Claire's body. As he stretched each gap in the front rope, the loop between her legs moved up until it was rubbing against her crotch. Sylar finished off with a knot on the front; there were still a few feet of rope left, which he left trailing on the floor.

"What do you think?" he asked, his good mood apparently restored. "I like it."

Her hands still resting on her head, Claire looked down at herself. "I can't really see."

"There's a mirror in the bedroom. Come with me."

He took the loose end of the rope and headed for the raised area at the back of the loft. Claire assumed that she was allowed to lower her arms. She followed Sylar as best she could, pulled along by the rope he used as a leash but hampered by the chain between her ankles. The rope rubbed and tickled her skin as she walked, massaging her already stimulated sex.

Sylar levitated her over the three steps leading up to the bedroom area. There was a large wall to wall mirror in the corner by the bathroom block. Claire stared at herself with curiosity. Her body was crisscrossed with ropes, forming three diamonds down her front, with a double width of rope disappearing past her neatly trimmed pubic area. She looked as if she was wearing a large fishing net.

"You look beautiful," said Sylar breathlessly.

Their eyes met in the mirror. Sylar looked flushed and strangely casual in his simple clothes; he gave her that weird sheepish smile she'd seen before, the one he got when he was really pleased about something.

Claire looked at herself again; yes, she did look good. Not because of the weird bondage, but because she was a pretty girl with a good body. She half smiled at Sylar, her anger abating with the hope that she could use her appeal to make the game work in her favor. After all, here she was posing like a mannequin in a macramé swimsuit and he was already panting like a dog in heat.

Sylar moved behind her, still holding the rope attached to her waist. Claire watched his large hands cup her breasts, his blunt fingers tweaking the nipples and sending renewed spikes of pleasure through her body. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair; she doubted it was pleasant given her sweaty walk to get here, but she was beginning to think there was nothing that didn't turn Sylar on. He'd probably get hard even if she pissed on him.

"Oh, you're gorgeous," he murmured, kissing her hair and the side of her face.

Claire watched Sylar's full lips brush against her cheek. The bulbous tip of his nose flattened against her jaw when he kissed her just beneath the ear. His lips moved down her neck to her shoulder, and the loop between her legs tightened as his fingers slid underneath to massage her folds. Claire exhaled slowly, letting the pleasure course through her. What had Luke said -- _You might as well enjoy the ride_?

"Hmm. Gorgeous and kinky too," said Sylar with a chuckle. "You're really wet. You don't like being my slave, but you like some of this, right?"

Claire looked into Sylar's brown eyes in the mirror. His fingers between her legs stilled as he waited for her response, looking surprisingly vulnerable despite his control of the situation. Claire swallowed her pride and decided that now wasn't the time to lie.

"Yes, master," she said quietly, lowering her eyes demurely. "I do like some of this."

A happy smile spread on Sylar's long face when he realized she was telling the truth. "We'll discuss which parts you like best later," he said, starting to finger her again. "I have some fantasies I want to try out, but we can do yours too if you like. I guess it's destiny." He kissed her ear. "We have a connection, Claire."

_Sure. __You like raping me and I can't fight you. Must be destiny,_ she thought sarcastically. His talk about destiny worried her; she'd really thought he was over all that spending eternity together crap. But if he was intending to do this forever, she was going to have to kill him.

Claire groaned as Sylar rammed his fingers inside her as far as they would go, scissoring and curling them to poke every inch of her insides. He had to be using a power again; there was no way something that gross could be so exciting. His other hand still had a hold of the rope ends. She half wished she could kill him right now.

"If you want to come, just ask me politely," he murmured, his breath tickling her ear. "Or we can both wait until the game is finished."

Claire assumed that he wanted her to wait; besides, she did have some pride left. "I can wait, master," she said.

Sylar gave her a quick peck on the cheek and pulled his hand out of her crotch. Claire's sex throbbed with excitement as the thin rope returned to rub it. She wondered if there was anything she could think about to control her own arousal. Hiro Nakamura eating waffles or something. She wondered if Hiro knew anything about robe bondage.

"Good, let's get back to the game," said Sylar, straightening up. He wiped his wet hand on his sweatpants, leaving a shiny smear. "You're very good at distracting me from my goals, Claire, but I've decided to be more strict in future. Today's game is a test of obedience. As my slave, you must learn to do as I say, even if you don't want to or it makes no sense."

Since he paused at that point, Claire shot him a worried look and said, "Um, yes, master."

"Good. I've baked some cookies." Sylar fastened the chain between her wrists again. He let go of her rope leash. "Go to the kitchen, put the cookies on a tray and bring them to me with a large glass of milk."

Claire blinked at the weirdness of the request. Seriously, she was going to serve him cookies and milk? That was his fantasy?

Deciding not to think about it too much, Claire headed for the kitchen before the asshole had time to click the abacus. She tucked the ends of the rope into the loop around her waist so she didn't trip over it; it was bad enough that she had to hobble to the kitchen. She found that the only way to walk without shuffling her feet was to roll her hips. Yeah, she bet Sylar liked that.

Claire looked around the kitchen for a serving tray. The cupboards were mostly empty; she recognized some cups and plates from his father's house, as well as the breakfast cereal he had eaten there. After arranging the warm cookies on the plate, she hobbled over to the refrigerator. The chains on her limbs clinked and the rope harness rubbed against her skin and private parts, making the most mundane movement feel odd. She caught sight of Sylar out of the corner of her eye; he was leaning on the breakfast bar, watching her. The realization made her gut twist in instinctive shame, and her Judas pussy throb with excitement.

The refrigerator was a testimonial to Sylar's single life; half a takeout pizza, pots of fruit corner yoghurts, some eggs, a loaf of bread, a couple of cans of soda and a small bottle of milk. Thinking about him eating his takeout pizza and biting his nails all alone in this big unfurnished loft almost made Claire feel better about the situation. Poor woobie Sylar, unable to kill and picking on a defenseless girl to feel powerful again. Her mouth twitched in disgust as she thought about the unfair punishment and the obscene picture on her phone.

Sylar was sitting in the armchair when Claire left the kitchen area with the tray. She couldn't spread her chained hands wide enough to carry the tray normally, so she had to balance it carefully, leaning it beneath her breasts and using her forearms like a forklift truck. Combined with her hobbled ankles, this made the journey from the kitchen to the chair fraught with difficulty. She kept an eye on the glass of milk the whole time.

"Well done," said Sylar, looking up at her with a smirk when she stood before him. "I'll call it one point for completing the task and one for spilling nothing. Now kneel so I can eat."

She had to hand it to him; this was some sadistic test. Claire had to use all the strength in her leg muscles to lower her body to the ground without falling over. Regeneration or not, she was out of practice and nearly tipped the tray as one leg went down faster than the other. Sylar observed every movement eagerly; she wondered if he wanted her to fail. He seemed pleased when she didn't.

"That's great," he said. "Thank you."

Claire smiled politely. Did masters thank their slaves? She vaguely remembered playing a game based on 'The King And I' as a child, with Jackie as the king and Claire as a slave girl. Jackie's interpretation of slavery was that slaves only ever crawled and had to be used as footstools. Sylar evidently shared Jackie's ideas; she hoped he wouldn't make her crawl again.

Claire gritted her teeth at the thought that her friend's murderer was sitting before her, blithely eating cookies and reading his novel. Just in case her rage got the better of her, she tried to dismiss the thought and focused on the book he was reading instead. It wasn't the same as the one he had been reading the previous week. The blurb on the back cover said it was about a clockmaker who had solved the problem of determining longitude at sea. Claire's lips quirked involuntarily; she had a feeling that Sylar didn't want people to know he had once been a "guilt-stricken watchmaker" as her father had put it, but he wasn't exactly hiding it well.

Sylar looked up from his book after a few minutes.

"Would you like a cookie, Claire?" he asked, looking her over with amusement.

"Yes, master."

Claire thought he might take offence if she refused, though she didn't see how she could have a cookie while both hands were occupied with holding the tray. Sylar picked one up and held it to her lips. Oh. It hadn't occurred to her that he would simply feed her like an animal.

The plain cookie was slightly underdone, but Claire would have eaten it even if it had been inedible. She hoped it wasn't laced with ability-suppressant pills. For all her yearning for normal pain over the last few years, she was not looking forward to her 'punishment' with the riding crop. But Sylar had been eating the cookies himself, so it was unlikely that he had drugged them.

Sylar helped her to some milk. She hoped the game would end soon because regeneration or not, her arms were getting tired. He finished off the last cookie, licking the crumbs out of the corners of his mouth. He stood up and pushed the chair back a few feet.

"You must be getting tired," he said, "but I need to test something. If you perform well, I'll give you more bonus points. You can use them to buy back a malus point if you like. Stand."

Okay, good incentive to perform well. Claire stood, very careful not to knock the glass over, and waited for instructions. Sylar called the riding crop to his hand; she tried not to look alarmed.

"I guess I don't need to tell you not to drop the tray," said Sylar, walking out of sight behind her.

"Oh!" exclaimed Claire as he whipped her ass.

It didn't hurt, of course, but she could feel the blow shaking the muscles and small quantity of fat in her buttocks. It felt kind of pleasant. Sylar struck her several more times, each time hard enough to jolt her whole body and make her struggle to keep the tray balanced. He also whipped her sides, which was far worse, making her flinch as the riding crop tickled her. The tray vacillated but she managed to get it back. Given how hampered she was by the restraints on her wrists and ankles, Claire would have been quite proud of herself, except that this was a _stupid fucking test_.

She held out for six more blows before the tray slid off her hands. Unable to balance without spreading her legs, Claire fell with it, landing on her knees at Sylar's feet. She couldn't hear the abacus over the clatter of the fall, but she presumed she'd earned another malus point. The glass didn't break but spilled its remaining contents on the hardwood floor. Claire panicked, thinking that she would get an extra malus point if she didn't clean it up, but before she could ask for a cloth, the milk rose off the floor as one blob and poured back into the glass.

"Better than fetching a cloth," said Sylar proudly. He obviously wanted her to congratulate him.

"Yes, that's very impressive," agreed Claire sincerely.

"Now. Bonus points for making it up to me," he said with delight.

Right. Make it up to him in some kind of slave way. Claire glanced at his bare feet; yeah, that would make him feel powerful and un-woobie-like. She kissed a patch of hairless soft white skin on the side of his foot. Sylar's sharp intake of breath was audible in the silent room. Bingo.

"Sorry, master," she said, keeping her head bowed low. The words made her feel sick. "Please forgive me for dropping the tray."

Sylar didn't move or say anything, so Claire kissed his other foot, deriving some amusement from his loud breathing. Thinking about how ticklish her own feet were, she thought having them kissed was probably quite pleasant. His feet were clean and well-groomed; aside from the ignominy of having to do this at all, she could do this any time he liked if it meant earning bonus point.

After a long pause, Sylar seemed to remember that he was meant to be directing this game. He moved away to sit on the chair and spread his knees a little.

"Why don't you show me how sorry you are?"

_Because I'm not fucking sorry?_. Heaving a discreet sigh, Claire crawled to the chair, kneeling between Sylar's legs. It was pretty obvious what he wanted. She thought about his trip to the bathroom as she pulled down the elastic band on his sweatpants.

Sylar was wearing no underwear. His genitals were lying in an ungainly heap on his reclined hips, bulging reddish flesh and wiry dark hairs. His shaft was half hard, the flushed tip just protruding from its sheath of thick beige skin like an overcooked frankfurter. Claire looked at the prominent blue veins along the side and the fine hairs growing up the base like some kind of freaky cactus. She really didn't want to put that thing in her mouth. Sylar laughed shortly.

"God, you should see the look on your face," he said. "Claire, it's not that bad. You did this before."

Claire looked up at him. He looked embarrassed, ashamed at her disgusted reaction to his private parts and she almost felt sorry for him. He probably got a lot of pleasure from this hideous organ and it had to be demoralizing to realize that it filled his sexual partner with disgust. But that was tough shit. Elle had probably thought it looked okay; if Sylar wanted admiration, he should have chosen someone who actually liked him.

"Sorry. I'm just not used to this yet," said Claire, forcing a reassuring smile to avoid making things worse.

Sylar still looked annoyed so Claire quickly worked saliva into her mouth and grabbed the shaft. It was almost soft, a squishy beanie bag of a thing. Clearly, her attitude to the blowjob wasn't a turn on for him. But she needed to show him she was an obedient slave if she wanted to stay out of trouble.

Claire squeezed his penis tight; Sylar whimpered but said nothing. His penis hardened and she put it in her mouth. She was pleased to find that he had given it a good clean, because it tasted of nothing more than a faint trace of sweat. As she had done the previous time, Claire used her hand to rub him at the same time, hoping to reduce the time she had to do this. Even so, it took ages.

Some things like licking the tip made the entire shaft pulse in her hand, but that was tiring, so she alternated it with some sucking. She remembered her friend Sophie somehow getting her boyfriend's entire penis into her mouth and wondered how that worked, and more importantly, whether it would get Sylar off faster. Claire experimentally tried to get more in, but it made her gag so she went back to licking and sucking. He definitely liked her licking the tip, so she pulled her mouth off him and just did that for a while.

Sylar gripped the arms of the chair, his thighs tense beneath the thin material of his sweatpants and his hairy chest sweaty above the wifebeater. Except for his reclining position, he looked as if he had been running. She looked up at his face, her hand still wrapped around his penis and her mouth on the tip. Sylar was panting, his lips parted and his brown eyes wide as if he had never seen anything as amazing as Claire blowing him. Damn; he was going to want her to do this again.

Claire let his penis slip out of her mouth; there was a little depression in the smooth red skin at the tip and she slid her tongue across it, flicking rapidly as she did when she went down on Gretchen. God, she missed Gretchen. Sylar's mouth and eyes widened, and he let out a very unmanly little whimper.

"Oh, oh, God."

He didn't come yet, but he was getting close. Enjoying his lack of control, Claire continued to lick, keeping eye contact so he knew that he was at her mercy. Even though he had forced her, she had the most sensitive parts of his anatomy in her hands. She remembered the first time she had done this; she had ended up with his stuff all over her face and chest. She wondered if it would be less gross to actually swallow it. The thought made her feel sick; she decided that if he gave her a choice, she'd go for come on her face again. Given the state he'd left her in the previous day, he'd probably prefer that too.

"Keep your mouth open," he ordered in a strangled voice.

_Shit. Fucking asshole._ She obediently opened her mouth and shut her eyes when he finally came with a loud moan. Ugh.

"Don't swallow."

Double ugh. Claire tried not to gag, puke or punch Sylar in the balls. She just stayed as she was, kneeling naked at his feet with her eyes closed and mouth half open, trying to pretend that none of this was happening; pretending it was a dream that she wasn't responsible for, like the ones where she had sex with Peter. Or indeed the ones where she had sex with Sylar.

"Show me."

Claire opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out. She didn't even want to think what she looked like; so much for the illusion of control. Sylar stroked her cheek.

"I must admit, Claire, I never imagined that you would be so very obedient. You're amazing."

_That's because I'm not fucking stupid__,_ she thought, opening her eyes. Sylar handed her the half empty glass of milk. Claire resisted the urge to splash it onto his face, and simply drank a large swig and swallowed. It tasted normal, with no sign of its brief spill on the floor.

"Luke enjoys doing that, you know," said Sylar casually. "You'll get used to it."

Somehow, the fact that _Luke_, his gay psycho sidekick, enjoyed giving head wasn't a help. The fact that Claire's friend Sophie seemed to enjoy it was far more relevant. She was a very normal girl. Still, it tasted gross; maybe Sophie dealt with it by swallowing really quickly.

Sylar stopped her drinking all the milk and handed her half a pill. Claire swore internally and took it.

"It's time for your punishment," said Sylar simply. "Come."

Claire put the glass down and hesitated. She was currently on her knees; she wondered if he wanted her to stand up and follow, or just crawl. Oh, what the hell, walking with the ankle chain was difficult anyway, and this might get her extra bonus points. He had promised to cancel a malus point if she was good.

Claire crawled after Sylar on her hands and knees, her naked breasts dangling down and the rope rubbing between her legs; it was right on her clitoris this time, sending delightful twinges of pleasure through her with every shift of her hips. It was a shame he intended to hurt her and not fuck her, because she could have been up for a bit of that by the time she got into the bedroom area.

Sylar was standing by the bed; Claire kneeled at his feet, head down so she couldn't see whatever smug expression he had on his horsey face. His toes wriggled a bit as he talked.

"Kneel on the bed, back to me."

Claire complied. The pill was starting to work and every sensation was intensified; the feel of the cotton sheet under her hands and knees, the rope rubbing her skin, even the way her scrunchie pulled her hair into the ponytail. Once she was in position, Claire was facing the large mirror on the opposite wall; she watched as Sylar used the loose ends of the rope to tie her thighs together before tying her arms behind her back. He secured her arms and thighs to the existing harness and completed the preparation by threading a last coil of rope through her mouth, using it to pull her head back like a bridle.

Claire had never felt so helpless in her whole life. She was unable to move, incapable of healing and entirely at Sylar's mercy. With her head held up by the makeshift bridle, Claire had no choice but to look at herself in the mirror. She looked weird, she thought, all trussed up on the bed with her ass above her head and every bit of flesh crisscrossed with red rope.

The rope between her legs was putting light pressure on her pussy; Claire thought she was probably wet again since her body seemed to respond to stimuli independently from her mind. This game might even have been fun with another partner. However, she didn't trust Sylar enough to relax. He was going to hurt her, and he was going to enjoy it, which meant he would hurt her again.

"You've been very good," said Sylar breathlessly; Claire surmised that binding her had aroused him again. "You can have one malus point off if you like."

The rope through her mouth only garbled Claire's enunciation slightly as she said "Yes, please."

"Okay. Fifteen strikes and it'll be over," he said.

Claire made a noise to indicate that she agreed with that, though every shred of self-respect in her body bristled at the thought of being punished just because of his dumb game. She promised herself that some day she would whip him and make him crawl. The fantasy was made only slightly less satisfying by her suspicion that he might actually enjoy that.

"Ow!"

Claire shrieked as Sylar struck the first blow across her exposed ass. Son of a bitch, that _hurt_. Claire decided that she was most definitely not a masochist, whatever Sylar might think. She tried instinctively to move away as he continued to whip her but the only parts of her body in contact with the bed were her chest and her bound knees. The best she could have done was to roll onto her back, turtle-like, and even in her state of growing panic, Claire didn't think that would help much.

Mentally counting the blows didn't help either; it just hurt too much. Claire's eyes were clouded with tears and her ass felt as though it was red raw by the time she reached 8. She found it hard not to beg him to stop, but she knew that would give him too much satisfaction; she still had some pride left. Looking at the mirror, Claire could see Sylar intent on his task, dark eyes lowered to watch her ass as he struck the next blow. Claire sobbed but swore she would make him pay.

"There, all done," said Sylar, throwing away the riding crop after what felt like an eternity. "You have been a very good slave today. Since you live so close, I want you to come here every day. If you're good, I'll mostly stick to stuff you like."

Every day? Claire thought there was no way she could withstand this kind of treatment and still hide it from her father, but she didn't dare protest while she was so vulnerable. Sylar kneeled down, disappearing behind her in the mirror. Claire whimpered when he kissed her ass cheeks; she was so sore that the light touch made her shiver. She felt him gently rubbing something cold onto her skin. Sylar was being very careful and the sensation of the cold substance on her burning skin was surprisingly stimulating. She could feel arousal starting to build again.

Sylar parted the two coils of rope between her legs, placing them on either side of her outer lips so that her external genitalia was compressed. The sensation was strange and made her sex throb. Sylar licked her a few times, bringing her close but stopping at the last minute. He replaced his tongue with his fingers; they slid easily between her folds, a testament to how wet she was again.

"God, I want to fuck you right now," he murmured.

Despite her resolution to play the good little slave, Claire whimpered. She couldn't bear the idea of him tearing into her while her ass was still so sore. Sylar kissed her bound sex one last time and wriggled two fingers inside her. The sensation felt less pleasant with her power disabled and her opening narrowed by the ropes. Claire tensed and shook her head, saying "no" through her gag as Sylar stood up again and pushed his pants down.

"Don't worry, I won't be long," said Sylar breathlessly. "Consider this part of your punishment."

Sylar looked kind of out of it, with the weird attentive expression Claire had seen when he took her power. She closed her eyes and bit down on the rope in her mouth as he pushed his way inside her.

"Oh, god, Claire, that feels incredible."

Bully for him. For Claire, it just felt painful. Everything was hurting now; her arms and legs, her neck, her raw ass and now the entrance to her vagina. She hated Sylar for putting her through this and she hated everyone who had ever let this bastard get away with his crimes.

At least he kept his promise; Claire watched his head roll back as he came with a groan after only a few thrusts. She closed her eyes, letting the tears roll down freely. Her sex throbbed uncomfortably along with the pain in the rest of her body; the sensation was so intense that it almost felt like arousal. Claire could feel the throbbing in her clitoris, little bursts of pleasure breaking through as his erection deflated and the pain eased.

The bursts intensified, making Claire hyper aware of the bed sheet against her nipples and the rope compressing her sex. She began to pant as the arousal increased, taking over her body as if enhanced by the pain, making her want to irrationally grind her sore ass against the dick that had just ripped her apart. Claire bit the rope again and whimpered.

She opened her eyes and saw Sylar concentrating on her, a smirk on his lips; even the knowledge that he was using a power to force sexual arousal on her wasn't enough to make it go away. Claire glared at him with hatred as the desire overwhelmed her body. She tried to fight but there was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes to block Sylar out and gave in, writhing involuntarily like a bitch in heat.

"Ask for it," he ordered.

God, hadn't he done enough already? Claire sobbed as the arousal remained but the stimulation on her sex subsided. She tried to fight it, thinking about unsexy things like Jackie's dead body and having her skull split open. But her desire-addled mind kept coming back to the painful throbbing in her sex and Claire wriggled and whimpered in spite of herself. She had to end this.

"Please-master-I-want-to-come," she said rapidly, enunciating with difficult around the rope in her mouth.

Sylar's eyes narrowed with satisfaction. "Well done.

Claire screamed as an intense orgasm shook her body. The involuntary movement strained her bonds, making the rope bite into her flesh. She groaned several times more, sobbing as the aftershocks subsided.

"Shit, I'm exhausted." Sylar sat heavily on the bed. He wiped her face with a towel and grinned at her. "That looked pretty intense. Did you like it?"

"No," said Claire honestly, her head still held up by the rope gag.

Sylar looked… disappointed. As if he'd given her a present and she'd hated it. "I must fix your virginity," he said thoughtfully. "It's kind of a turn on, but I guess it makes it harder for you. How do you change your earrings?"

Despite her resolution to be 'good', Claire turned her head towards him to give him her best 'what the fuck' look. Not just about the earrings, but more generally the idea that not being a physical virgin would make being bound, whipped and then fucked when she said "no" any more enjoyable.

"You wear different earrings every time I see you," he explained, waving his hand to loosen her bonds. "I'm guessing you don't use a piercing gun every time, so how do you change them? Do the holes stay there when you take your earrings out?"

"Yes," said Claire, resting her head on the bed as the rope fell out of her mouth.

Sylar didn't comment, though the weird thoughtful look returned; Claire wasn't sure she liked the idea of Sylar trying to "fix" her virginity again. But for now, she was more interested in the fact that Sylar was untying her. She flexed her neck and arms when he released them. He told her to sit up once her thighs were free, so he could unravel the rest of the rope tied around her body. There were light rope burns in places; Sylar used an organic cream to treat a couple of places where her skin was grazed.

"I don't think I like hurting you all that much," he said conversationally as he continued to direct the rope off her body. "It's more fun when you have your ability."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Yeah, for me too. Um, master," she added.

Sylar smiled, that genuine, toothy smile that made his laugh lines appear. "It's okay, we can stop playing now."

Claire blinked. This was a game that could stop? That was a new idea. She was tempted to disobey Sylar when he asked her to lie on her front, just to see if the abacus would come back into play. But she realized that he intended to put some more of the soothing cream on her ass, so she complied. Game or no game, she was already violated and in pain; she might as well let him do something useful now.

The cream on her bottom turned into a full body massage, followed by what felt like a sponge bath between her legs. Exhausted by the virtually sleepless night and the strange game, Claire closed her eyes. She really wished Sylar would cut the domination crap and be like this more often.

"You still have a couple of hours before your Dad gets home," said Sylar, stroking her head. "Why don't you get some sleep and I'll fly you back when it's time? You can text me later if you have someone you want me to take down."

"Hmm," said Claire drowsily, her eyes tight shut and her mind drifting off already. "Sylar, why can't you be nice to me?"

"Because you wouldn't respect me if I was nice," said Sylar without hesitation.

"I might like you better, though," murmured Claire, letting herself doze off.

There was a long pause and Claire thought he wasn't going to answer. But finally, she heard him speak just as sleep took over her body.

"Nah," he said quietly. "Respect will do."


End file.
